


Storm Rolling In

by GhostHost



Series: Smoke and Mirrors [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Humanformers, Kidnapping, M/M, Merformers, Mild Gore, More in fic, Multi, Other relationships that are secondary to the main, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slavery, big warnings are:, human!Rung, mer!Whirl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-08-09 10:49:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7798867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostHost/pseuds/GhostHost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1992 Rung saw his Master's prized Mer fighter for the first time. In 1997, he freed it-and himself.</p><p>14 years later in the beach town he restarted his life in, they cross paths once more. Mer pups are disappearing, the long-dead Functionalist Society is rising from the grave and Rung and Whirl are quick to realize their lives aren't so easily untangled from one another's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tipped the Hourglass

**Author's Note:**

> I finally succumbed to the TF Mer kick. I’m not quite sure how it all started, but there are many people who have written wonderful fanfictions and drawn beautiful art and I’d like to thank you all for destroying me these last two days because I can’t seem to rip myself away from the computer. Take all the credit you wonderful, evil people. 
> 
> Also I binged Stranger Things and that might have had something to do with it. 
> 
> Anyway, here’s a fic I shouldn’t have written because I should have been working on other things, but I did anyway because I am but a whim to the ever powerful Plot Bunny. 
> 
> Warnings: Strap in kids, this one's long. Mentions of rape, torture, slavery (unwilling/forced) BDSM, fights to the death, PTSD, scars, kidnapping, invasive medical procedures, complete lack of consent, blood, gore, child slavery/kidnapping, people getting eaten by mers, stealing, mentions of people eating mers / pups as a delicacy, Xeno (?? - I lean more towards Xeno with the human/mer fish thing, over anything else) annnd I think that’s it. If there are more I will add as I go, this warning will be in every chapter rather than my normal individual chapter warnings. If I missed one shoot me a message and I’ll add it! 
> 
> If you are super squeamish to graphic descriptions (specifically of the gore/dead people/people getting eaten variety) then I would skip Rung’s flashback, which is marked by nearly a paragraph of Italics both as it starts and as it ends.

Storm Rolling In

* * *

 

_???, United States, 1992_

“Is it salvageable?”

“Yes. The new prosthetics are the best on the market-military grade. I must warn you though, installing them will be costly.”

“The best things in life are.” The speaker was a middle aged man.  He was seated in a plush armchair, in front of a row of monitors, wearing a suite that was worth more than the other man’s car.

“It’s not just the installation.” Another piped up, the third man in the room. “It’s the maintenance. The claws are metal-they will rust. You’ll need to replace them, likely multiple times throughout the creature's life.”

“Haven’t you figured it out by now?” The first tutted playfully.  “This is not a sport for the weak of wallet. If you want to win,” He smiled around a cigar, dark eyes watching a mer struggle on one of the screens, “you have to pay. And he who pays the most has a significant advantage.”

Guards scrambled on-screen, a swarm of them trying to bring the massive mer to heel. It was large, larger than most mer. Easily 7 feet in length. It’s pale blue hide was streaked with blood, destroyed hands swiping at men as they wrestled with a number of chains attached to it. A scar ran down it’s back, a thick white line that drew the eye to a number of others. Some looked surgical, others were clearly from old war wounds.

It’s given name was Whirl, and the man seated in front of the screens had let it keep that, if only because it already had a reputation by the time it had come into his hands.

“If you insist. Drugging the thing for the procedure will be a pretty penny too.”

“Let my guards handle that.” He said it with a wave of his hand, a gesture indicating no one should worry over such a simple thing. “It’s what they’re trained for.”

“And if you lose one?”

“What, a guard?” The man laughed. “Then we get a new one! If you haven’t noticed, their lives, are much easier-and certainly less costly-to replace than a Mers. Particularly that one.” He inclined his head to the screens. “It’s won me more money than half my stable.”

“Sir I have to warn you, there is a significant chance it won’t take to the prosthetics-” The first man finally looked up from his notes, to look at the first.

He was interrupted. “Oh, it will. It has no choice.”

“You seem certain.”

“Of course.” A phone rang, and a fourth man appeared from the shadows. His outfit was consistent with that of a butler’s, and he carried a silver tray, phone perched atop it. He said nothing, simply stopping by the owner of the mer-and of the entire Hawkins facility.

Said man didn’t even look before picking up the phone.

“This is One.” He said, without removing the cigar from his mouth.

He listened for a moment, the large, square rings on his hand glittering under lamp light.

“Well, it’s about time.” He said finally, before hanging up the phone. He put out the cigar with a smile. “Gentlemen, I will leave you to it. It seems I have a doctor's appointment.”

“Of course Sir.” Said the third man.

“Goodbye Sir.” Said the second, going back to look at this clipboard--and the papers he’d been handed before they started this conversation.

One left, his butler following only after he’d gone through the door.

The third man watched him go, waiting until he was certain his new employer was down the hall.

“Boss.” He said, turning to the second, his voice holding a note of warning in it.

The second man raised a hand, now scribbling madly on the clipboard. “Shove it.”

“I have some concerns.” The third one continued, as though he hadn’t heard his boss speak.

“I said shove it.” The pen made a final swirl, the third man ripping the freshly signed check free. “Say what you will about the Functionalists,” He held the check out to his subordinate, “but no one pays like they do.”

The third man took the check, eyebrows rising as he took in the amount listed.

“Alright.” He said, after a long moment spent counting zeros.“Alright. I’ll start ordering the materials.” ‘ _And hope neither of us dies trying to fix the fucking Mer.’_

xXx

_Portland, OR, 1992_

 

Rung removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes as the words began to blur in front of them. He slipped them back on, looking at the stack of paperwork on his desk with a sigh.

He never regretted writing papers until he was approaching deadlines. Once he was, he always, always wanted to kick himself for taking on another one. But he knew himself, knew he would do this, even when he’d accepted the proposal his colleagues had given him. The regret and dismay was just a part of the process.

His eyes moved unconsciously to the clock on the wall, the time reminding him that, deadline or no, he would be no use to any of his patients if he pulled an all nighter. His patients had to come first, and he needed to be in top mental shape for them. It was unfair to be otherwise and lack of sleep most definitely affected one's mental state.

He stood, stretching, feeling his  vest slide up his stomach and bunch up the rust-red shirt underneath. He patted them both back down, then fiddled with the rolled up sleeves that ended at his elbows. His jeans were a dark wash, his tie a yellowish gold and he didn’t need to look in a mirror to see his hair would likely look as crumpled as it was. He idly shook a few red strands out of his face, careful not to dislodge his glasses while doing so.

Yup. Definitely time to retire for the evening.

A noise down the hall startled him-footsteps growing louder. A human shaped shadow appeared through the opaque window in his door.

Rung frowned at it.

“Pardon, but I’m closed for the night.” He called, loud enough to be heard.  “If you’d like an appointment I’m going to have to ask you to call to schedule one tomorrow.” The office secretary had left long ago, without bothering to say goodbye-likely hadn’t realized Rung was still there. It was common of his other colleagues to forget him, as it was common of most people, and he’d stopped being offended by it long ago.

The shadow didn’t leave.

People often spoke of a “chill” going down their back when suddenly faced with a situation that felt wrong. Rung had never experienced the phenomena himself, but he felt it now, the hair on the back of his neck rising.

He didn’t have time to act on it, as the doorknob twitched, once, twice, then opened with a click.

Rung froze -because the door had been locked.

It swung open, revealing a man in a suite. Backed by two human mountains, he smiled at Rung. “Hello Doctor.” He said pleasantly.

The sense of wrongness intensified, but it wasn’t an unknown horror anymore. Rung recognized the man before him.

“Coming here won’t change my mind.” He said immediately. “I gave  you my answer.” His voice was hard, strong in a way that surprised himself.

It just seemed to please the man entering the room. “Yes. Unfortunately the answer you gave was the wrong one.” He stalked over, his men following him, leaving Rung to realize that a third had been standing behind the three of them. He stepped up, blocking the door.

And Rung’s route of escape.

The one in the suite, who long ago had identified himself as “Mr. One” walked leisurely around the office, stopping to admiring the books Rung had shelved above his cabinets. “ It’s such a pity too. I was looking forward to forming a partnership.” He spoke easily, as though this was an everyday conversation and not one taking place after he’d broken into Rung’s office late at night.  “Your expertise would have been valuable on my new project.”

“Your project appears to be highly unethical, and in violation of more than a few laws.” Rung fired back. He watched One with sharp eyes and debated his options. There weren’t many- his office was on the fourth floor and none of his windows were open. Even without that they were a poor option-he doubted he could jump out of them unscathed. The door was blocked, the other two men standing  close enough to even prevent him from getting to the third-and he knew then, that this wasn’t going to end well for him.

At the very least, he was sticking to his guns. There was no way on Earth he was going to work for a man who had proved to have such disgusting ideas as the one before him.

“ I could have made you rich.” Said man stated, running a finger down a book’s spine. “Famous.”

“It must be difficult for you then, to encounter someone who is not swayed by either.” Rung kept his voice firm, strong. He wasn’t yelling-what was the point? There was no one around to hear him-but he refused to show fear. That’s what the goal of this clearly was-to cause fear. If not to force Rung to accept then perhaps to put fear in others to show what would happen if they refused One’s offers.

“Mmm. Difficult certainly, but not impossible.” Finally, One looked at him. The grin on his face was awful, the kind Rung expected to see on a movie villains.  

“I did tell you, Doctor. You have no close ties. No family. Few friends. Not enough people to even remember your name. No one would notice if you disappeared. Such a shame, that it’s come down to that.”

The chill was back. Rung ignored it.

“I have been threatened by stronger men than you.” Many times. This wasn’t even the first time someone had tried to get him to use his research, or otherwise conduct it, in an experiment that was destined to end up as a lawsuit.

“Oh certainly.” One waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ve heard all about the people who’ve tried to win you before. I’ll let you in on a little secret about them.” He cocked a hip, hands clasped pleasantly behind his back. “Physically, they might be stronger. But not one of them is more powerful, nor as cunning as me.”

“Powerful is not the word I would use.” Rung’s glasses had slid down his nose, he adjusted it with a finger that may or may not have been his middle one. “And certainly not cunning. That would imply intelligence.”

It was a childish insult. Rung didn’t care.

One said nothing to that, simply snapping his fingers. The small, ugly smile never leaving his face. His men-Rung promptly decided to refer to them as goons, moved forward, grabbing Rung. He didn’t struggle-didn’t see a point. If he were to at all survive this he might be able to catch them by surprise and make a run for it. The chance was slim, but Rung was willing to take it. He wouldn’t go down willingly.

“You can do what you will, but it won’t change the fact that  there are some things you are simply unable to control. Your ideas will never prevail so long as you remain so moronic.” Rung spat, and nevermind it took him a moment to come up with something as weak as that insult was. He simply wasn’t in the company of such vile people to have the vocabulary on hand to deal with him.  

One hummed thoughtfully, a thin finger coming up to tap at the side of his mouth. “Just for that comment I think I’ll discredit you.” His voice was almost delighted.  “I wasn’t going to, I was going to just let you disappear. Another cold case for the files. But now...I think I’ll have a little fun.” The goons dragged Rung forward, within reaching distance of One. The man was taller than the therapist (who wasn’t?) but one of the goons holding him booted the back of Rung’s knee. Not expecting it he went down, dropping hard on his shins. Heavy hands on his shoulder’s kept him there and he grit his teeth, trying to ignore the pain.

One waited patiently until Rung’s eyes had risen, to bend down.

“When I am through with you there won’t be an academic alive who will touch your name.” He purred. “No one will touch you at all in fact, except for the people I give permission for. You are mine now, Doctor. I will enjoy breaking you, as I have enjoyed breaking others before you.” His eyes bore into Rungs as though his glasses didn’t exist.

“You brought this,” A finger traced his jawline and Rung jerked back reflexively, “on yourself.”

One turned to leave, the goons following, half carrying half dragging Rung with them. “Trash the place will you?” One called over his shoulder. “And throw in some good drugs. I think it’s time for our good doctor to go on a little bender.”  The goon blocking the door nodded, stepping into Rung’s office after they’d passed him. Rung seethed quietly. _‘Wait, just wait.’_ He told himself firmly. If they took him outside rather than kill him outright, his chances would increase. Making a run for it was a poor defense, but it was all he had.

He wasn’t so lucky. His captors hadn’t just been dragging him behind their boss, they’d been busy. What Rung thought was jostling was actually them simply re-positioning him into a better angle. The one on his left  pulled a slim, loaded needle out of his pocket. He stuck it in Rung’s neck before the therapist even noticed, injecting the entire contents with a practiced push. Rung jerked, crying out, but they held him firm, continued to make him move forward even as blackness closed in on his vision.

Rung remembered nothing after that.

Years later he’d wish it had ended then. That they had killed him.

Because what they had done was much, much worse.

xXx

 

_Hawkins Facility, Manzanita, OR, 1997_

 

Everything was on fire.

Rung ran, blood running down his arms. His glasses were cracked; his shirt ripped, and the smoke made everything more difficult than it should be, but he knew the way.

Time was running out. He knew he had to be quick. His window was closing, but he had things to do before he could attempt his escape. For all he knew, his Master had trapped the place and nothing but a burst of bullets was waiting for him outside.

Not that it mattered-the bastard was dead, _finally dead_ , and Rung wanted to kick the metaphorical dirt on the grave. Give one last fuck you, because if he couldn’t survive, others would.

Or at least, they could cause enough damage to make it all worthwhile.

His collar was tight against his throat-it always was but it choked off his coughs and that hurt almost more than his wounds did. He was used to pain though, and ignored it in favor of running through two more doors and down a  flight of stairs.

The smoke was following him. He knew it was even if the air was clearer in this corridor. He sucked it in gratefully as he turned a final corner-crashing through a double set of doors.

Master had always called  it his “stable.” Rows of cylindrical tanks of various sizes filled the massive room,  like oversized vases containing their prize. Some were so tall that their bottoms were shadowed, murky without direct light. Others short or long. All were covered by thick black tops, which could be easily raised or even connected-along with the tops of the tanks- to some of the suspended, metal catwalks that ringed the walls.  Not one of the tanks contained anything other than a singular creature. The room was enormous, had to be for what it held, and Rung paused as memories of the last time he’d been in here, an odd year or so ago-hit him.

 _He was being held over a massive tank, one of the goon’s hands wrapped around his throat. He fought-and was unable-to stop him, as he was shoved down, flat on his back against the edge of the walkway. It_ was suspended over the water, having extended across as the lid of the tank had been raised. His head snapped back over the edge, close enough that his hair touched water.  

“Come on!” A second goon called. “Come get dinner!” He used a pole to slap the top of the water on the other side of the tank, smart enough to go nowhere near the walkways edge.  

A few more splashes and he pulled back suddenly. Even while engaged with the goon, choking on the little air he could get, Rung knew that was bad.

Very bad.

His situation hit him abruptly and Rung fought harder. He knew what resided in this tank. He had seen it.

He had seen it _fight._

But he himself had fought back, finally, and if nothing else in this horrible place, he was proud of himself for that. The goon was trying to choke him out, or at least hinder him enough so he couldn’t get up quickly, but he was too slow. Way too slow. He should have been focusing on trying to throw Rung in rather than making him compliant-and in doing so he forgot what little time he had.  

It was a mistake that proved fatal.

The water rippled-the back of Rung’s head suddenly drenched as something from the depths of the tank rocketed to the surface.

He closed his eyes, unwilling to see his own end-praying it would be quick and hoping it would at least take the goon down too-when the water exploded. A massive body sailed over him-soaking him as it went. The goon let go abruptly, screaming, and Rung’s eyes popped open out of reflex as more yells and a choked, wet gurgling filled the air.

The goon above him was falling backwards, eyes wide. Blood poured from a wide gash in his throat-the wound nearly decapitating him. The Mer landed with a crash-it had overshot the edge of the walkway in favor of ripping into the goon and landed nearly on top of him as a result.  Part of it’s tail smacked hard into Rung and he wheezed as his breath left him.  The wet gurgling turned into a final, dying shriek, covered only by the Mer’s own roar.

And Rung got a front row seat as The Functionalist Society’s prized fighter tore into his next meal.

He sat up on his elbows, breathing hard. Watching as the goon’s screams cut off, watching as blood splattered in wild patterns on the walkway. The Mer ripped a chunk out of the goon with his teeth and Rung had an abrupt reminder that Master had a habit of starving his possessions to make them perform better-as well as the fact that he was next.

The mer wouldn’t waste an opportunity to have a larger meal. Not with Rung trapped.  It was blocking the entire walkway-it’s tail still partly on Rung and there was no way he was getting past it. Going backwards, into the water would simply prolong his death. Mer’s liked to play with their food, and even if he wasn’t injured Rung knew he’d never make it to the other walkway.

Not that it would matter if he did, because that’s where the other goons stood. They’d have  no problems sacrificing him to save themselves, shooting or shoving him back in as a distraction. Would do so even if they could save him in fact-because their orders were to kill him.

The mer lifted it’s head, twisting slowly as it turned toward Rung. Light glinted off its metal claws-it had two fingers and a raptor like thumb on one hand and four on the other. He’d heard his Master tell it once that he’d already replaced the hands twice, the creature could suffer until he was entirely incapable of fighting before it got another. The skin connecting to the hands was heavily damaged-though some of it was growing onto the prosthetics. Scars  tore up its blue skin, the white slashes scattered like lightning bolts.

Half its face wet with blood, a tongue flicked out to catch a taste on its lips as it looked him over.

“I don’t deserve to ask you this,” Rung said quietly, and felt vaguely insane for even bothering, “but please, make it quick.”

That’s all he wanted now. A quick death.

It wouldn’t be painless, but nothing in his life was. His Master had insured that.

At the very least he could be relieved that it was over now.

The mer studied him- it was then that Rung realized it had lost an eye. It hadn’t, last he saw it, but then his Master had long since stopped bringing Rung to the fights. Rung’s status had dropped in the years, from favorite toy to the thing that was tossed in the corner and given to friends to play with.

It’s eye drifted down, catching on the collar around Rung’s neck. It’s tail flicked-Rung winced as it lifted off him. The end was held in the air, the Mer showing its flexibility as it brought it’s tail around, curling through the small space, so that it lay behind it, on the dead goon. Just as slowly, and with just as much grace-if one could name such an act with grace-the Mer used it’s tail to shove the goon sideways,through a gap in the walkways railing. He went slowly,  until he fell into the water with a wet _“plop!_ ”, the Mer’s single eye never leaving Rung’s all the while.

It was too big to follow the body through the gap-they both knew that.  Rung tried to slow his breathing as the Mer began its approach to him. Fear built from within-Rung swallowed thickly. Anticipation was the worst part of anything and he wished that Mer would just attack all ready. He wouldn’t resist. Would throw himself on those deadly claws, if he had to. Just to make things quick.

Instead, the mer stopped, holding itself high above him, and   _winked._

Rung spent a moment realizing that it was indeed a wink, and not a slow, murderous blink, but the Mer had already begun moving again. It slid  passed him, right over the edge of the walking and into the water, movements slow and controlled.

The tail caressed Rung gently as it passed, the end curling slightly as it touched him. The mer began circling the dead goon floating in its tank-staining its water red. Rung turned to watch it, and thus caught its eye once more as it gathered its food to it.

The mer grinned at him, showing wicked, stained teeth, before dropping below the surface, taking the body with it.

Leaving him alone-and alive.

“Congratulations.” His Master said and Rung jerked, _head whipping around to see he’d appeared on one of the observation decks. “Seems you’ve made it through another day. I’ll cater to your good fortune. Come. We have much to do.”_

_((boom))_

_Filled with adrenaline, trying not to shake from the shock of it all, Rung rose and went._

_((BOOM))_

_He couldn’t tell if he was relieved, or disappointed he had survived._

**_BOOM!_ **

The noise split the air, ground shaking, and  jolted Rung back to the present. He took a few breaths, even as his memories briefly overlapped the present. Bits of the ceiling floated downwards. He stood, shaking, trying to even his breathing as he took in the stables-the first time he’d ever seen it without a single human present.

 _‘You don’t have time for this.’_ He thought. He’d have the rest of his life to get sucked into flashbacks. Or maybe not, but either way, now wasn’t the time for them to rear their heads.

Furious at himself, unknowing of how much time he had lost, he started moving. It  would take him at least another minute or two to get to what he wanted. He ran the whole way. The smoke had drifted into the room now, followed by the whole place being bathed in emergency red-lights. He’d long since blocked out the alarms and sirens, the screams of people dying as they were caught by God knew what. The bank of controls finally came up on his left and Rung slide to a stop in front of the nearest end. He hit a number of buttons, knowing this panel not only connected to the stables but would free a number of things from floors below. He moved down the banks, pressing buttons and punching in access codes he was never supposed to know. He didn’t stop until he reached the levers.

Those he stared at, the first bit of doubt creeping into his mind.

It was a split second decision, one he would worry over for the rest of his life, but by the time he’d even had the thought that this could potentially be a bad idea he’d already pulled the first lever. Alarms awakened with a wail, but they were lost in the flashing lights and screams, the smoke of the fire. Rung ran down the final control panel, pulling all the levers he could. More and more alarms woke but it was too late to stop anything.

He didn’t look up until his job was done, until all the doors connecting the tanks were open. Despite all the protocols his Masters had built, despite all the careful planning, there still had to be ways to safely get mers in and out of the facility. There had to be a way to transport them. And these days, with the way the waters were, coming in by boat was the safest thing.

Which meant one of these doors led to open water.

Rung looked up at least, finally realizing the shadows that had fallen weren’t all due to the smoke and failing equipment.

The long control panel ended with Tank 1, and in it, his Master’s favorite prize.

The blue mer stared down at him from it’s tank, single golden eye tracking him as Rung had worked.

Rung stared at it, before pointing to the now open door in its tank.

“They’re open.” He yelled. “They’re all open.” And one of them would lead to the outside. “Go!”

The mer floated above him for a second longer, before whirling, and rocketing towards the door.

They were smart creatures. He knew it had understood.

Rung just hoped it could have a better life now, if it made it out.

Just as he hoped he would.

xXx

 

_14 years later._

_Mirror Beach, WA, 2011_

 

“If you absolutely need my help then I will come.” Rung smiled at the stocky man before him, even if said man’s arms were crossed and a frown was slashed across his face. “And I assume, from the fact you are even asking, that this is serious.”

“Yeah.” Ratchet conceded after a moment, foot tapping in an upset rhythm. “But that doesn’t mean you have to say yes.”

“On the contrary, it’s the only reason I would.” Rung kept his smile as he descended down the stairs. They were small and a little narrow, just like his office. But they were his and that fact grounded him like nothing else did. “Shall we?” He added, as he walked off the last step and found himself having to stare up at his friend.

Ratchet gave a defeated sigh. “Yeah.”

They walked together, Rung humming lightly as they did. It wasn’t a long walk, but it wasn’t short either. Rung took the time to examine his old friend. Ratchet’s age was beginning to show, silver lines running through his red hair. It was darker than Rung’s own-his was more orange, and had lightened quite a bit since he’d come to live here. Both of them were starting to have age lines in their faces- Rung wore his with pride.

Of course, his were smile lines while Ratchet’s clearly looked to be ones caused by excessive scowling, and their small community had had great fun teasing him for it. His khaki shorts went down past his knees, his white doctors coat open and showing a black shirt with; “I’m the Doctor AND the Vet, who the hell are you?” emblazed across it in bold lettering.  Sunglasses settled atop  his head finished the outfit and Rung had to hide his endless amusement over how casual the medic looked. For someone as strict with medical protocols as Ratchet was, his aversion to scrubs was one of the few things that made him so infamous.

His temper and wicked aim of course, being the others.

“Hey Rung!” Drift, Ratchet’s fiance and sometimes assistant called, waving at him as they turned onto the docks. Ratchet’s Yamaha  was parked in slot 1, as boating and sea-related emergencies were just as common-if not more so-than ones on land.  “Glad you could come, we need you.”

Which was preciously what he had assumed-and why he had gone.

“I’m afraid Ratchet still has not filled me in, would you mind doing so?” He asked Drift as the younger man helped him aboard. Drift could only be described as sleek, built in the way sword fighters and runners were. Ethnically Asian, culturally US, Drift was a hair shorter than his fiance (though still much taller than Rung.) His hair was dyed a shocking white, though he’d been putting bright red streaks in it lately to mimic the silver ones in Ratchet’s hair (and thus tease the doctor further.) He had a number of scars running down his arm and it was only Rung’s status as Ratchet’s close friend that let him know about the gang tattoo covered by a loose black shirt.

“That sounds like him.” Drift said, as grabbing a hold of the rope that connected the boat to the dock. “Short answer; we’ve got mer problems.”

 _‘Mer problems?’_ Rung thought, turning to raise an eyebrow at Ratchet as the older man hustled around helping Drift to get the boat ready to launch.

“Long answer;” Rung’s head swung the opposite direction, looking over the railing at the blue-and-white haired women seated on the second deck, “We need a diplomat and you’re the best one around. Hey Rung!”

“Miss Gate.” Rung greeted, smiling at her enthusiasm. Taya Gate, like most everyone in town, preferred to go by a nickname but Rung refused to refer to her as ‘Tailgate.’ Accidental drunken shenanigans or not, hers was the one he could never quite bring himself to say. She wasn’t bothered by his refusal, so he simply shortened it to her last name. “Cyclonus, Rodimus.” He added, having now spotted the mers.

Both were seated on the lower steps of the back of the boat, tails in the water. Rung’s concern grew by their appearance. Rodimus, having come with Drift when the two of them escaped Drift’s gang, wasn’t an unusual addition when it came to water emergencies, but Cyclonus’s presence was rare and spoke of a serious problem. The purple and black striped mer was antisocial and had taken a long time to warm up to most of the town. Now that he had he was rather possessive over it, but even then he rarely joined in on a rescue unless asked or unless the problem involved hyper-aggressive mers.

Or Miss Gate, of course.

The both of them were Mirror Beach’s only permanent residents Mer wise. Rung wasn’t entirely clear of Cyclonus and ‘Gate’s backstory, just aware they had one and weren’t often seen away from each other. It hadn’t gone unnoticed either, when Cyclonus had suddenly begun wearing a shell necklace nearly identical to ‘Gates. Hailing from Hawaii, ‘Gate took her culture seriously and often educated tourists about it when summer came. Her favorite activity was leading in a ‘Pacific Northwest Proper luau” that was part fun, part educational.

Cyclonus favorite activity, on the other hand, was attempting to eat anyone who expressed surprise about how a such a dark skinned women could be Hawaiian.

“We’re casting off!” Drift called and Rung walked down the stairs quickly so that he could sit opposite ‘Gate.

“Are you gonna be alright on the water?” She asked as he sat, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. “Do you need any nausea pills? I think I have some.”

“Thank you for the thought, but I’ll be fine. I took some on the way here.” Rung kept his smile, knowing his glasses hid his eyes. They were the kind that turned into sunglasses once they hit harsher light, but were forever shaded a light blue no matter where they were. They did a great job of hiding half his expression, which was the sole reason he had purchased them.

He had never quite been able to lie with his eyes.

So he covered them, and lied with his tongue, knowing Ratchet was too busy to call him on it. It was a small lie anyway, perfectly harmless. He’d always told everyone he got incredibly seasick, which was why he couldn’t go aboard most boats.

No one here needed to know it was really PTSD. Or the fact that his Master had been rather fond of hosting parties on large boats-and throwing Rung overboard. Forcing him to swim until he was exhausted as some kind of game, making Rung fetch things thrown overboard in freezing waters, ordering him to do any number of things or risk being left in the ocean-but that was neither here nor there. As in Rung was here, and not there, something he was eternally grateful for, and should put behind him. Right this second.

_‘Because you are in open water, on a boat, and thinking about this is an excellent way to get yourself sick. Focus on the mission instead.’_

Excellent advice, if he could just follow it.

The boat began to back out, it’s engine's hum filling the air. Rather than push off into the water, both Cyclonus and Rodimus flipped their tails in the boat. Engaging with unknown mers was always dangerous-even for other mers. Rung knew before Ratchet even launched into his “nobody get injured” speech that both mers were saving themselves in case they had to fight.

Luckily both were rather impressive fighters, though it pained the therapist to know that the reason for that was unnatural and often due to run-ins with humans. Not that natural mers weren’t just as deadly, but Rodimus and Cyclonus easily specialized in certain styles of fighting, and were well equipped to take down humans as well as use their tools, while many mer weren’t. Nevermind that they themselves were rarer kinds of mer. Rodimus was a Koi breed, his hide a near metallic red and gold. So much so that in the right light it could be used to blind opponents. Cyclonus was a Lionfish-breed, and as such was venomous. He seemed to be able to control the venom, and its effects were far less than his  fish-centric cousin. The two of them were impressive when compared the the duller colors of the common mer-which made sense, considering that's the kind humans wanted and kept.

But there was no use in thinking about that either. Instead Rung turned to Cyclonus, asking a question about a book he had recommended. Cyclonus was rather fond of his waterpoofed Kindle, and was quick to engage in a discussion with Rung. The atmosphere was tense, as it always was before approaching  an unknown situation, but Rung tried to keep things light until the police boats were in sight and the Yamaha’s radio was hailed

Their boat slowed to a crawl, coming to bob next to a Coast Guard boat surrounded by police speeders. A handful of people were aboard it, their uniforms identifying them as a mix of police, Coast Guard-and FBI.

“Those are big city cops.” Rodimus said as two stepped up to the railing, waving at them, “What are they doing out here?”

And they were-Rung recognized the pair from their numerous appearances on TV. Detectives Prowl and Jazz were infamous for solving a famous cold case file last fall. Cyclonus simply studied them for a moment before moving to get in the water-Rodimus close behind him.

“Be careful.” Ratchet said, and though the warning was intended for the mers, Rung knew the rest of them would take it as well. Mers were more often treated like animals rather than intelligent beings, and many people were terrified of them given their violent reputation. The general public's lack of interaction with them outside of of amusement parks did nothing to fix that. Though locals were well acquainted with both mers, they’d had a few unfortunate encounters with out of towners.

Rodimus waved him off as he slipped into the water, following Cyclonus in a dive.

Detective Prowl- a tall, slender man with cropped blonde hair and Men-In-Black style sunglasses opened his mouth, no doubt to greet them but his partner beat him to it.

“Hey!”  Jazz  called leaning over the railing. Though still clearly an FBI Agent, Jazz managed to look slightly less formal than his partner. He had a lions mane worth of dreads, all pulled back into a ponytail.  A blue visor like pair of sunglasses hide his eyes, and he wore a black muscle shirt with slacks rather than a suite. A simple gold band wrapped around his ring finger, the gold glitter against his chocolate skin. “Thanks for meeting us out here!”

“No problem.” Ratchet called back. ‘Do we have an update on the situation?”

“ Bit of one. Your crew all know what’s up?”

“They know what I know.” Ratchet responded.

“I’ll start from the beginning then, I don’t know what all you were told. We got a boating situation-seems some mers off the coast a ways have trapped a fishing boat. The guys are saying the mers aren’t lettin’ them go and they don’t want to hurt any of em.”

“How many mers?”

It was too Jazz’s credit that he didn’t startle or comment at Cyclonus’s sudden appearance. He just tilted his head down to the mer and answered;

“Dunno but they reported a pod.”

“That’s-odd.” Odder still that Jazz and Prowl were the ones to respond. Though situations like this were incredibly rare, it was usually due to a misunderstanding and could easily be resolved peacefully if the right people were involved.  Mostly the two species wanted nothing to do with each other and mers only interfered or attacked for drastic reasons.

That didn’t stop a lot of companies from having trained security especially to “deal with”them.

“Are we expecting injuries?” Ratchet asked. Being called in by the big guns wasn’t unusual for him, he was often called when a medic was required until Life Flight arrived. Surrounding law enforcement and emergency services weren’t stupid-they’d all been quick to pick up that Ratchet’s medical skills far surpassed a regular doctors. He was typically the first of the few local MD’s to get called in.

“Yeah but I’m not sure they’re all gonna be human ones. We’re gonna need to calm both sides down, they’re gettin’ violent with each other.”

“We need to keep everyone calm while we do this-we have reason to believe the pod that’s attacking them is hunting party from the Auto Pod.” That raised some eyebrows-the Auto Pod was the largest pod closest to the shores in the Pacific Northwest. Because of that they had a long-standing agreement with local humans-both the Oregon and Washington coasts had special units-The City Speakers- dedicated just to maintaining the peace between the two species.

A unit that wasn’t currently present.

Apparently Rung wasn’t the only one with that train of thought, because Ratchet shot both detectives one of his infamous glares. “No offense to either of you, but a lot of this isn’t adding up. I’m not endangering my crew until we know a little more-like why you two are out here and where the City Speakers are.”

Jazz looked to his partner but Prowl’s already stoic face went blank. “I am afraid our own involvement is classified. We simply need you-and the mers, if they are willing-to bring aid to both sides,  if needed.”

“And to keep things chill. We’re trying to avoid a bloodpath if we can.” Jazz added.

“You’re expecting one.” Drift said suddenly, startling Rung. He’d forgotten the man was there.

Jazz drummed his fingers on the railing. “Might be my man. But we won’t know till we get there. There’s a chance this could all turn out to be false or a simple...disagreement. then we just get to peace-keep and guide the fishermen in. But if things go poorly,” He trialed off for a moment, straightening up. “We’re gonna need everyone to keep their heads and back off if we ask ya to.”

Drift nodded at that. “Your call Ratch.” He said, looking back to his fiance, “but I’m game.”

Ratchet crossed his arms over his chest, clearly unhappy. “Rung? Tailgate?” He asked, finally.

“I’m in!” ‘Gate called, and Rung followed her with his own affirmative.

“Roddy? Cyclonus?” Ratchet said it louder, so the mers could hear him.

“I would like to know what’s going on this close to us.” Cyclonus said, having remained slightly out, where he could easily see both boats. One of his long, horn-like fins twitched. Those who knew him knew it mean he was listening to the other, submerged mer.  “Rodimus agrees.” He added.

Ratchet took that in for a moment, before turning back to the detectives. “Fine, but if things get heated I’m pulling out.”

“That’s all we can ask of you.” Prowl said, the same time Jazz tipped him a salute and a loud;

“You got it!”  

xXx

 

Ratchet’s boat glided easily in the water along with the police speeders. The larger, coast guard ship led the charge. The trapped boat wasn’t too far out, and it wasn’t long before it was in their sights.

The radio buzzed, coming to life. “We’re gonna approach first. Once we give the all clear, everyone else can as well.”

“Affirmative.” Ratchet called, echoing as the other speeders gave their confirmation. Jazz and Prowl’s boat pulled forward, while the rest of their small fleet came to a stop.

Rung walked up, as did Tailgate to where Ratchet and Drift stood at the helm of the ship. The lower deck was too close to water-there was always a chance one could get pulled in by an upset mer. Rodimus and Cyclonus surfaced in front of them, standing as guards-they’d wait until Ratchet’s boat moved before they got involved.

From here, the upset pod of mers was visible. One of the largest Rung had seen was surfaced, close enough to be heard by the fisherman, while others were circling, keeping the boat from moving. One rammed it-it was small as fishing boats went and bobbed hard at the impact.

Rung settled in with the others to wait. Police negotiations, particularly with mers, often took a long time. For something as odd as this, it was likely to take longer. Rung himself knew he’d been called in by Ratchet just in case something went seriously wrong-Rung had proven himself adept at getting their group out of trouble on a number of occasions. Even with mers.

Something that was important for them more than most, considering their party consisted of two mers. Most cops wouldn’t touch mers fighting amongst themselves, even if asked and Ratchet put them all first before anything else. Just a glance around proved the medic wasn’t pulling any punches with this one-Drift was a crack shot and could be guaranteed to be carrying, even if he greatly preferred steel weapons over guns. Cyclonus’s presence was directly in relation to Tailgate-likely Ratchet has asked the pair if Cyclonus would help, and the mer had said no. Tailgate agreeing to go-and getting on the boat-forced his hand into coming-something everyone involved knew would happen.

And if Ratchet was appealing to ‘Gate’s sense of justice rather than simply take Cyclonus’s refusal, then it meant he’d felt this was more serious than even the cops were letting on.

“Care to tell us what you think is really going on?” Rung asked quietly. Like most of the residents of the town, Ratchet didn’t like to talk about his past. But that didn’t mean they didn’t have hints about each others over the years. Rung knew a bit more than most, having grown close with Ratchet.

Close enough to know Ratchet’s contacts spanned both land and sea, and the people who gave him warnings weren’t all human.

Ratchet chewed on his lip for a moment before his chest heaved in a sigh. “Mer pups have gone missing.” He said it quietly, as to not be overheard. “There have been a few cases of a few outlier pods entire brood going missing. It’s finally reached the larger pods-they’re losing them in numbers we haven’t seen in years.”

  
Ratchet inclined his head, at the fishing boat up ahead. “Rumor is, the reason those mers are upset is because they think those fishermen took some of their babies.”

Which explained the lengths he’d gone to. For all his blustering Ratchet was a softie at heart-he would do all he could to help save pups. Likely he realized they’d need medical attention-especially if they’d been away from their pod and parents for more than a day. Rung understood his own involvement much more now-his negotiation skills would allow Ratchet some wiggle room to examine the pups and help if needed.

The negotiations appeared to be going well, yelling having died down between all parties. They dragged on for a tense moment, before the surfaced mer moved out of the way and Prowl and Jazz’s boat pulled alongside the fisherman’s.

Words were difficult to make out this far away, but no one missed when the surfaced mer-the Human-Mer Peacekeeper and Enforcer Magnus, Rung realized as he saw him better in the boat’s lights, bellowed.

“Quit ramming the boat!” Magnus shouted, as a blue mer circled, building speed to go for another strike.

The mer aborted. Making a hard right, he disappeared under the water before surfacing near Ratchet’s boat. He hissed something furiously in mer, rearing up enough in the water to splash several of the surrounding humans.

Magnus said something back, his voice a heavy baritone even in mer. Whirl snorted, tossing his head-and looked directly at Rung.

It was like time stopped. Rung recognized him instantly, hadn’t needed to get much more of a glance to do so. It was clear the mer recognized him as well-as he gave Rung his full attention.  They stared at each other, Rung’s heart hammering in his chest.

Words were being spoken-Prowl was getting on the boat with Jazz, the two of them doing a sweep with their flashlights. The fisherman aboard the boat were huddled in the center of their deck, kept well away from the edges, another officer speaking to them quietly.

It felt like they were a thousand miles away.

Rung gripped the edge of the railing so hard his knuckles went white. Half Whirl’s face was covered in an eyepatch, a jagged red cloth had been ripped to form an X across it. His other eye, reflected a blazing gold in the boat lights, stared straight into Rung’s own.

A shout in mer startled both of them. Whirl’s head whipped around, snarled something back before he dove under the water. Rung sucked in a breath, feeling time kick back in. He watched Whirl go until he lost track of the mer’s movements.

The people aboard the boat were rustling about, as Prowl reappeared.

“They’re clear!” An officer shouted, and Prowl leaned over the fishing boat railing, closer than anyone else dared, to speak quietly with Magnus.

After a few exchanges Magnus nodded, and Prowl backed up, giving a few signals to Jazz. In return, Jazz and the officer on the ship herded the fisherman up to the steering wheel. The area wasn't big enough for all of them, some having to stand on the steps leading up to it, but Jazz and his officer took their places in front of them.

Magnus dived, vanishing into the murky blackness. “Hold!” Prowl yelled, so that everyone could hear. “Magnus is coming aboard!”

One of the fishmen yelled a protest-it was lost however, as the mer launched himself out of the water. His jump was perfectly aimed; he grabbed the edge of the boat to help ease himself over as he passed it, swinging his tail around.

“Magnus will have a look around to ensure there are no pups aboard.” Prowl said again, in his booming ‘I’m In Charge” voice. More protests from the fishermen-who were alarmed to discover that Jazz and his officer weren’t just standing in front of them to protect them, but to also keep them in place.

The mer searched the upper decks, keeping away from the fishermen best he could. He paused by Prowl who let him approach without issue. Prowl nodded at what he had to say, before announcing again; “Perceptor is coming aboard!”

A second mer breached a moment later, jumping onto the deck in a move that was nearly as smooth as Magnus’s. The smaller mer was quick to get to work, moving into the rooms and lower decks of the ship that his leader couldn’t get into. Magnus waited with Prowl patiently, until Perceptor finally returned, shaking his head.

“We apologize for the inconvenience.” Magnus said, voice rumbling. “And thank you for your assistance.” It was clear he was unhappy, but backing off. He turned to the fishermen before he left however, dipping his head and offering another apology. “Thank you for your patience.”

He died off, Perceptor following immediately after. The mers as one began to back off, clearing a way for the fishing boat.

“Two of our speeders will escort you home” Prowl said, walking over to the small railed bridge his boat had used to get him access to the fishing boat. “And Officer Breyers will stay with you until you dock. We will need to speak with you all once you land safely, to take in an incident report. Thank you gentlemen.” He left, not giving them room for comment, Jazz following closely.

Rung quite paying attention then, the pod having his full attention. Ratchet and Drift were still tense besides him, likely would be until they docked themselves. It wasn’t until the police had re-arranged themselves and Prowl and Jazz had re-boarded their own boat that Ratchet finally shook himself out of it.

Their radio crackled to life as the boats began their return trip. “We’ll contact you all after you dock too.” Prowl spoke, voice smooth even when coming through thick static. “Standard follow-up procedures.”

“Of course. Ratchet Out.” Ratchet said. He stepped away from the controls, handing them over to Drift. He went down the stairs, as did they all, to stare out of the back of the boat and in the direction the pod had retreated too.

No one on the boat missed when he leaned down, removing something from his pocket and whispering into the water.

Everyone pretended not to notice when he tossed a sealed, plastic bag in.

Most of all, no one said a thing when Rodimus didn’t return with them.

xXx

 

Rodimus hadn’t been bred for speed. It was simply something that had come naturally to him. He was leaner than most mers, strong in a way that made him faster, and it took no time at all to catch up with the pod.

They noticed him immediately, two peeling off to face him. One shouted something in mer-Rodimus didn’t catch it. Not that it mattered if he could.

He’d been raised by humans his entire life, mostly in isolation from other mers. The only language he knew was English and out of spit more than anything, he refused to learn mer. He had encountered more than enough wild ones since his release to realize they took one look at him and labeled him a “pet-mer.” A human lover. Something to be ignored at least and to be attacked- or killed- at most.

“Hey!’ He called instead, in English. He knew their leader spoke it. “Hold up!”

The entire pod had pulled up now. One of the guard-mers lunged at him when he got too close, but Rodimus dodged expertly, spinning himself in a move that disturbed the surrounding water and made it difficult for them to grab him.

“I was sent to talk to you!” He said again.

The Enforcer-Ratchet had said his name was Magnus- raised a hand, his voice booming. His mers stopped chasing, instead spreading out behind him in a clear threat gesture. Magnus started to speak again-still in mer and Rodimus shook his head.

‘English.” He said. Magnus switched to it immediately.

“Do you require assistance? Are the humans keeping you captive?” He said and Rodimus snorted.

“Yeah, that’s why they let me run out here on my own. Nah,” He continued, as Magnus frowned, “I was sent out here to offer you help.” He held out the package-cased specially to be waterproof- Ratchet had given him.

“Help? From a pet-mer?” The words were garbled, barely understandable but Rodimus flared anyway.

“I am not a pet-mer.” He snapped. “I was asked to see if you wanted help from my pod in the future.”

“Two mers don’t make a pod-unless you’re including the humans?” That got a lot of gawfing laughter, until Magnus flicked his tail in irritation.

“What does this assistance cost?” He said.

“Nothing at all. We’re just offering aid in case this happens again.” Rodimus ignored the other mers, focusing on their leader.  “This is a flare. You fire it into the air, and it’ll be seen.” He raised the package up to show it.

“And what? You and your humans will come running?”One of them taunted in a thick accent,  flaring his fins aggressively.

“Yeah.” Rodimus said, narrowing his eyes. “Me and my humans, who will have a much easier time distracting other humans and have things like guns and basic medical training, will come running.”

“Your humans let you have a gun!?”

“My family doesn’t “let” me do anything.” Rodimus barred his fangs. ‘And for the record, I told Ratchet this was a stupid idea, but he wanted to offer. So here.” He shoved the plastic covered gun at Magnus. “I offered. Now get out of my waters.”

Several of the other Wreckers flared their fins at that, the claim of territory striking anger faster than anything Rodimus had done,  but Magnus raised an arm up, stopping them before they could start anything.

“Thank you for the offer. We apologize for trespassing in your territory and thank you for the assistance you gave.”  Magnus said formally. “May the current be yours.”

Rodimus watched him go-some of the others mers flashing their fangs and fins at him as they left. Rodimus let them-half of them didn’t speak English and hadn’t a clue what had just happened. Probably thought he was insulting-or trying to harm-their whale of a leader.

Nevermind that said whale was built like a human weightlifter, with the cutest little dots running down his tail….

Rodimus shook himself, flashing some fang of his own before whirling to return home.

They didn’t want their help? That was fine. Them and their pups could be caught for all Rodimus card. It was Ratchet who worried-and it was Ratchet who Rodimus would help. Kidnapped Mer pups or no.

 


	2. Watch Time Unfold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A HUGE thank you to Interrobam who edited this mess!! They deserve much praise. 
> 
> Warnings: Strap in kids, this one's long. Mentions of rape, torture, slavery (unwilling/forced) BDSM, fights to the death, PTSD, scars, kidnapping, invasive medical procedures, complete lack of consent, blood, gore, child slavery/kidnapping, people getting eaten by mers, stealing, mentions of people eating mers / pups as a delicacy, Xeno (?? - I lean more towards Xeno with the human/mer fish thing, over anything else) annnd I think that’s it. If there are more I will add as I go, this warning will be in every chapter rather than my normal individual chapter warnings. If I missed one shoot me a message and I’ll add it!

 

EDIT: AAAA LOOK AT[ THIS!!!! ](http://theshriekingsisterhood.tumblr.com/post/150272845145/rung-tried-to-slow-his-breathing-as-the-mer-began)Interrobam is an ART GOD aaajhfdsjdfj I am destroyed.

* * *

  
The pups were gone.

Just as they had last time, the boats split in multiple directions in an attempt to lose, or at least confuse, the pod. Magnus trilled loudly, his whistles directing mers who branched off to give chase. He wouldn’t let this happen again. Not now, when they _knew_ pups were onboard.

Their pups.

He was not one to count fins. They had pursued the boats even before their own pod’s pups had been stolen-- both because a pup’s life crossed all territories and because it was simply a matter of time before the Autopod was targeted itself. It was consistent with the pattern: humans always targeted the small, migratory pods first, before setting sights on larger pods. With so few smaller pods now that meant the larger ones, even those as large as the Autopod, were quick to fall under attack.

Migratory pods were welcome within the Autopod territory, had been since the pod’s creation, even though many considered them outsiders and outliers. Their Prime had ordered those pods to be left alone-- regardless of how many thought them odd for sticking to such low numbers, and though many grumbled about them taking the Autopod’s fish, all knew why their leader had done so. Many of those pods had taken in neutrals from the Cybertronian pod during it’s split, and their Prime still felt a connection and a responsibility to them.

Magnus went along with it because it was smart to keep an eye on the smaller pods. To know what happened to them was to know what trouble would come for him.

The humans had acted faster than he had anticipated though, and in greater numbers. Magnus had thought their operations skilled before, but he knew now he’d underestimated their size. Whomever was taking pups were not simply small time poachers. They were working on a scale previously unseen.

They had enough knowledge, enough experience, to know how to distract and kill in order to escape with a number of the Autopod’s pups out of their own nursery. That kind of knowledge spoke of studying, planning, and acting on a large enough scale to make Magnus more than nervous. It had happened so quickly that he’d barely had time to react, to order the normal pod guards to stay put and keep everyone together, to prevent mers from taking off after the boats-- the last thing they needed was additional pod members caught or killed.

This was what the Wreckers had been created for, and they had assembled almost the instant the news had broken out.

Magnus waited until every mer in the Wreckers peeled off before taking off himself. Rather than follow one of the boats, he shot towards a small reef.

A question was trilled behind him. He ignored it to break through to the surface. Arcee breached a second later, following close behind. “You can’t seriously be calling for help from the _pet-mer!_ ” She snapped as Magus pulled a rock out of the way of a crevice.

Magnus ignored her in favor of checking the flare over and raising it above his head.

He didn’t need instructions to know how to use it. It was similar to a human gun and he’d encountered enough of those in his time as the Enforcer of the Tyrest Code to know how to use one.

“Magnus!” Arcee snarled and finally Magnus looked to the smaller mer.

“They said they would help. Let’s see if their word is good,” he said, and fired the flare.

xXx

Rung had always loved to watch the sunset on the beach-- had saved most of his money to purchase a house with a view, in fact. It had always calmed him, lulled him when he needed it the most, and watching the sun sink into the waves had been a nightly ritual for as long as he’d been in Mirror Beach.

Furthermore, it had the added benefit of letting him see a far off red flare burn through the sky.

He stood up at the sight, sliding his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Two more followed the first before he could question himself (and his admittedly poor vision) and Rung quickly fumbled for his phone, knowing what the flare signalled.  

He dialed Ratchet’s number, listening to it ring while watching the sky.

Voicemail.

He dialed four more numbers before finally reaching Cyclonus through ‘Gate’s mobile.

“I saw it,” the mer said, without bothering to say hi. “We are assembling down by the docks.”

“I’m coming,” Rung replied. It would take him ten minutes to walk there if he left now. Cyclonus hung up without saying goodbye-- which was normal, for him.  

The Enforcer wouldn’t have used that flare unless it was a legitimate emergency-- Rodimus had been betting that he wouldn’t use it at all. Rung had agreed, he was sure it would take something drastic to force the Wreckers into using it.

Unfortunately Rung, more than most, had a good idea of what could cause that response.

Particularly when the topic of the week had been about mer pups.

True to his estimate it took him roughly ten minutes to get down to the docks. The strands of lights which looped around the docks wooden pillars, making it easy to see the two mers fluttering about Tailgate’s boat. Rung made a beeline for them.

The other humans however, were oddly absent.

“Where’s everyone else?” he asked, slightly out of breath. He hadn’t run-- his body often didn’t permit it, not with how scarred and stiff he could get-- but he’d certainly walked fast.

“Dunno.” Rodimus was frowning at his own phone, a bulky thing meant to survive underwater. “I can’t get ahold of anyone- it’s weird, Doc.” The Mer’s frown was transferred to Rung as he looked up at him.

“No one at all?”

“It’s possible their phones are off,” Cyclonus answered after surfacing next to Rodimus. “Tailgate is currently seeing a movie at the Drive-In, I was unsure of who all went with her.”

Of course-- he’d forgotten. Rung had been invited but had opted out, not caring for the movie selection and in need of alone time anyway. Whirl’s appearance had brought the mer-- and some other, unpleasant thoughts-- to the front of his mind and he needed time to process them.

“I will keep trying to reach them, but in the meantime we should go,” Rung said, looking at his watch. The flare had launched twenty minutes ago. “If nothing else than to show we came when they called.” Something that was important when attempting to maintain peace.

“You don’t need to go, Doctor. Rodimus and I will be efficient enough,” Cyclonus said, but Rung was already stepping into ‘Gate’s speeder.

“I believe I do-- if there is another mistake someone needs to be there to keep everyone calm.” And Rung was talented with that, capable of clearing both mer and human heads.

Many had wondered where he had gotten the talent-- and the patience. None of them would ever know his lack of fear of mers came not from overconfidence or familiarity, but an intimate knowledge of knowing exactly how brutal they could be. You ceased to fear death when it hung constantly over your head, when you saw it every single day. Even now, if faced with it again, Rung felt as though he would do nothing but welcome it. Death by mer wasn’t pleasant, but there were worse ways to die.

He’d seen them.

There was also the fact that it would go a long way to keeping the peace between the species if a human showed up when they said they would. Particularly in strained times-- and even more so if the flare was due to more stolen pups. This was a situation that could get wildly out of hand if not carefully handled. Rung lived in a Beach town, he understood the ocean was the source of much of the town’s livelihood-- and by proxy, his own.

People wouldn’t want to live by the ocean if the local mers evoked an all out war.

‘Gate kept the keys to the speeder in one of the compartments of her boat, something most the town did. Knowing he had permission, Rung started it up. Rodimus leapt up, still glued to his phone, to sit on the edge. Cyclonus did not, instead disappearing under the surface to get a head-start on them. He didn’t go far-- Rung knew he was planning on leading the way.

“Keep trying them,” Rung said to Rodimus as he pulled out his own phone. He dialed quickly, putting the device into the crux of his shoulder and ear so that he could steer.

He might be going out at night into a situation that was likely to be dangerous, but he wasn’t a complete fool. Though he’d called the people he trusted most first (and automatically) he knew to call the police next.

Of course, it would help him to better assess the level of his own foolishness if they had answered. Instead he left a voicemail, frowning as he did so. Mirror Beach might have been a small town but it wasn’t _that_ small-- there should have been someone at the station.

But it was late. Nothing much happened in their town, Rung doubted many officers were on duty to begin with. Perhaps they were just on break? He left a message anyway before joining Rodimus in continuing to dial anyone he thought would help.

The boat’s lights cut across the water, the entire thing bobbing after Cyclonus as the mer swam at a speed that would surprise most humans. From the land it would look as though the boat had been swallowed by darkness, it’s lights vanishing from view as quickly as Rung’s signal faded until, finally, he was left with a red “emergency calls only” warning and the surrounding blackness of the ocean at night.

It was quiet save for the sounds of the water, and Rung hoped in his heart that, against all logic, this was a just false alarm.

xXx

Shady shapes took form up ahead. Boats of all sizes on the water. Rung slowed down as they came into view, suddenly unsure of his approach. If these were the people who had taken the mer pups…

He didn’t get to finish the thought. Rodimus had bailed off the boat the moment he’d seen the others, rushing to check it out. He reappeared with Cyclonus, the two of them giving an all clear signal and gesturing for Rung to follow. He did so, trusting them. He still kept the approach slow-- until he came close enough to make out the word ‘Police’ in the side of the closest boat.

No wonder no one had answered his calls. They were all already out here.

“Perfect timing, Doc!” A man’s voice called-- Rung recognized him as one of the local officers. Nice young man, if a bit dull. “We need another boat!”

“What’s the emergency?” Rung asked, sliding his boat up against the largest one. He could see people bustling about atop it, even in the poorly illumination of their boat’s lights.

“Poachers-- and kidnappers,” was his answer. “We’re aiding the Tryst Enforcer-- he’s got his smaller pod on it. We’ve sent a number of our boats in both directions to try and head them off, apparently they’re using more than one boat to try and lose the mers.”

 _Kidnappers._ A chill went down Rung’s back.

He knew what mer pups were stolen for.

“This is a little unorthodox,” the officer continued, yelling to be heard over both the ocean and the people behind him, “but is it alright if we borrow your boat? We need one more to head off in the South-West direction, Murdock’s boat’s still in the shop from that last storm!”

“Of course,” Rung said, eager to be of help. “They’re welcome aboard.”

“We’d rather do a swap with you honestly,” the officer-- who went by Sideways, Rung finally remembered-- rubbed the back of his neck, “considering you’re a civilian and all. We don’t wanna endanger you. I totally understand if you don’t want to lend the boat but-”

“No, no.” Rung readjusted so that the transfer would be easier. “Not at all. Take this one, this is important.” Tailgate would understand.

They all would really-- the town left their keys in their boats for a reason. The sea was dangerous, often it took only seconds to get into danger. They needed as few barriers as possible for help to arrive quickly and efficiently, and in a city like this that was just as much the townsfolk’s job as it was the local officers’.

A rope was swung over to him, Rung used it to tie the boats together.

As soon as that was done a ladder was swung over the side of the larger boat. Two officers skittered down it, then helped steady it as Rung climbed on.

“Careful,” Sideways said, steadying him. Rung let him, too preoccupied to care.

“We don’t want you to fall in. Especially not with the mers around. They’re all a little wound up.” He dipped his chin, indicating the mer that had just swept past the boat. “That one especially.”

Rung had noticed a few other mers darting here and there. He caught a glimpse of the mer in question as he turned to look, and felt his heart catch in his throat. Bright yellow eye, blue skin with a white stripe down the back...

_Whirl._

Rung turned to watch him, but whatever the mer was doing apparently didn’t involve their boat. Whirl had barely even reacted to it, too busy chasing off in a different direction. Rung watched him as he dove under the water, kept watching long after it became clear he wouldn’t resurface.

Someone bumped into him, startling him out of it. He adjusting his glasses before searching out Sideways.

When he found him he approached.

“What can I do to help?” He asked.

“You have Cyclonus and Roddy with you right?” At Rung’s nod the man continued. “Could you ask them to split up? One in either direction? I know we’re helping the Enforcer but,” and here he cast a look at the water, at the handful of mers that kept appearing in front of the boat that weren’t ones they recognized. “I’d prefer it if mers who were a touch more friendly to humans stayed with my team.” He lowered his voice to say it, and Rung nodded again in understanding.

Tempers were no doubt running high. It would be easy to make mistakes. In a situation like this, those mistakes could prove fatal for both humans and mers alike. All it took was one case of mistaken identity, or one hot head to decide a friendly human was one of the poachers, for an incident to occur.

Roddy and Cyclonus were not only well known by their town's residents, they were both often used as guards against aggressive mers in the case of situations exactly like this. Rung had long disagreed with asking either of them to fight another mer, but both of them had taken easily to the task and were compensated well for it.

Nevermind that in the end, Rung knew they had the training and overall prowess to handle a mer fight better than any human could.

He rushed to tell them their orders, wishing them well and to stay safe. They wished him the same in kind and shot off, leaving him alone on the boat to watch the chaos around him.

xXx 

Rodimus had been searching for a little more than hour, at his best estimate. He’d stayed well away from The Enforcer’s mers. As much as he wanted to be part of the action, he knew better than to swim along with them in the heart of the search-- not when he couldn’t communicate with the majority of them. Instead the police speeders on the farthest edges of the search had been told of his alert-calls, and would come if he shouted one. He’d stuck to the outside, racing to try and cut off any boats making their escape. It didn’t matter at this point if the boat had pups on it or not, any boat would need to be brought in for questioning to see if they were a part of this bullshit black market ring.

Which was why, when he finally spotted a foreign boat, he had to stop himself from just tearing right into it. He had no doubts in himself-- he could fight with the best of them and had no problems doing some damage to a boat, even with armed humans aboard.

He charged- and then rolled, lightning fast as he got close and suddenly recognized the boat. He spun in the water, fins flaring to get some drag, before regaining control and shooting to the surface.

“Hey!” he yelled, swimming to keep up with the boat, “Down here! It’s me!”

He’d been expecting one of the Coast Guard-perhaps even Jazz and Prowl if they were still around. Instead Ratchet’s head popped over the railing, followed by Drift’s. They yelled something Rodimus couldn’t hear, the boat slowing to a stop right after.

It was a larger boat than the one from a few days ago, but not by much-- Rodimus was still able to get on the lower deck. The second he was safely seated the boat started again, leaping forward.

“We saw Cyclonus earlier,” Ratchet yelled over the wind, coming down from the upper decks to him. “Where’s Rung?”  

The Koi-mer shook himself. “He’s with the cops. The other cops,” he said, nodding to Jazz and Prowl. “They had Cyclonus and I split up to help Magnus.”

Prowl frowned, leaving the steering to Jazz in order to come down to the second deck. “The Coast Guard?” he asked.

Rodimus shook his head, tail flipping in agitation. “No, the other cops. The local PD.”

Now Jazz was looking at them, rather than at where the boat was going.

“What direction were they at?” Prowl asked, softly. Ratchet focused on him immediately when he heard the tone Prowl used, knowing it was off.

“‘Bout twenty minutes North,” Rodimus said, pointing. He had caught on to Prowl’s tone too, and was frowning. “What’s wrong?”

Prowl looked up, trading a careful look with Jazz. Whatever passed between them was done so quickly, and Prowl turned back to them.

“The local PD wasn’t called out on this case. There are no other cops out on the water. Whoever called themselves such, weren’t real officers,” he said. Louder, he added, “Jazz, redirect the boat-”

But his partner was already on it, the boat’s engine screaming as Jazz forced it into a higher gear.

xXx 

This could not have gone any worse.

The pups had vanished, the poachers’ boats had scattered, and the human police had arrived.

The humans were concerned. They’d offered to help. Sent their own boats out to aid in the chase and kept in touch with the mers who checked in. Some of those boats held officers he recognized from prior encounters in the area. Mag’s had known one’s name even.

But something was _off._

Those feelings kept Whirl close, making his searching circles more of a wide arc around the “standing” police boats, the ones commanding the others in the center of their “search.”

It had taken too long to realize the reason he’d felt so odd about them was because they’d shown up _fast._ Too fast. It hadn’t taken him long from there to pick it all apart-- the guns were wrong, the gear was wrong, the way most of these people acted was _wrong._

They’d fooled them all.

By the time his head had finally put reasons to the wrongness it was too late-- the pet-mers had arrived with their own humans in tow. Whirl had assumed the worst- this elaborate scheme was only growing larger and he wouldn’t be surprised if they were in on the whole thing too.

But then the mostly-fake police had convinced the humans to get on their boat while one of theirs took the other, and Whirl had swum close enough to realize it wasn’t all of the pet-mers’ humans, but just one.

 _That_ one.

Glasses.

Whirl didn’t know his name, had never bothered to try and figure it out. Hadn’t wanted to, really, until the end of his stay with his so called master, when Glasses had proven himself more worthy than his master’s other toys. One had a number of names for them, not one of them their real names and all of them absolutely gross in retrospect, so Whirl had privately dubbed the human with a nickname of his own.

Glasses wasn’t in on this.

It was something he didn’t know, _shouldn’t_ know, and yet down in the black pit where his heart should have resided he knew it was true.

He had whistled the alert, circling under the surface and waiting for backup. He would have charged in-- could have, no matter how large the boat above was or how many smaller ones guarded it-- but they had four of their pups.

And Glasses.

If he charged he could only save one of those two, and that was a sacrifice he wasn’t willing to make.

He waited, hating every minute he couldn’t act, just hoping it would all go right.

xXx 

The weird noises were back, making everyone on board nervous.

Rung didn’t trust his instincts-- not anymore, not when it came to a lot of things-- but he knew a weird sound when he heard one. Particularly when it was heard repeatedly. And he knew a weird reaction when he saw one too-- the hissed conversations and not-so-subtle gestures he caught out the corners of his eyes were a bit of a dead giveaway that something was off. Between them and the circling mers-- more of whom were showing up by the second and with an intent that was not at all friendly-- Rung had a pretty good idea of what had happened.

The pups were on the boat.

He had a moment to think this over, pretending he hadn’t caught on. Was the entire police-force in on this? Was this another outfit entirely, posing as the police? Certainly slapping “police” on a boat and putting on a uniform wasn’t nearly as difficult as people liked to pretend it was, almost anyone could pass for a cop if they bluffed enough. Having a few real cops certainly helped them there, particularly in a small town. The police often called in other local PD’s from other small towns to aid in large matters, all it would take would be one or two local ones to put the entire town at ease.

Either way, at this point it didn’t matter. They’d succeeded in getting him away from his boat. They had asked him if they could borrow it and like an overtrusting fool he’d said yes. He wanted to blame the small-town mindset he’d fallen into but really, he knew better.

He’d been trained to never say no, after all. Not to those who held authority.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out why they had separated him from his boat, or what they intended for him. He was all by himself, had told them he hadn’t been able to get ahold of anyone else, had asked if anyone else was here by name. They knew he was alone. They knew he was unarmed.

They were going to kill him.

Cyclonus and Rodimus weren’t among the circling mers and Rung had the sudden realization that those present wouldn’t care that he’d been tricked into getting on the boat. He was as guilty as everyone else here in their eyes. They probably thought he was in on it.

They might very well be planning on killing him too.

But they weren’t on the boat-and he was. If he thought quickly, he might be able to at least save the pups. Poachers, he knew, had a bad habit of slaughtering their captives if they were caught or otherwise unable to make a sale on the black market. It was a childish sort of “If I can’t have it no one can” mindset, but it was very much a present threat.

Rung took it seriously.

He didn’t particularly care if he died at this point. He’d lived long past his own expectations. Lived far happier than he had ever imagined he would be. If his efforts got the pups to safety, then he would go to his death willingly. Their lives were all that mattered now.

The noises-- the ones he was now _certain_ was coming from the missing pups in question, had come from the maze of cabins behind him. His ran through a number of plans, trying to decide which would be best to use, as the tension around him became palpable. The tone of the circling mers wasn’t lost on the poachers.

They knew something was wrong too.

He had to act-- _before_ their disguise was blown.

“Pardon me,” he asked, holding on to his stomach, “but I’m getting a touch seasick.” He winced, then breathed heavily, playing up the act. “Do you have a bathroom?”

One of the “officers,” a women so thick with muscles she looked like she could flip the entire boat over with one hand, grunted and made a jerking motion to the cabin. Rung thanked her, before making his way in.

The “Coast Guard” boat was fairly large, closer in size to the size of a small yacht really, and built with a series of rooms rather than just a singular one. He knew he wouldn’t have long. The bathroom was one of the first doors and he was going to have to walk right past it. It wouldn’t take them long at all to realize what he was doing.

He hoped the mers outside provided enough of a distraction to give him some time.

He clicked softly. Once, then twice, hoping it would draw out peeps. He wasn’t an expert on mer pups, but he knew some aspects of their language.

It was successful. He kept clicking, adding in some low whistles in an attempt to find where the pups were being kept, as the peeps grew louder.

Finally he pinned them down to a room in the back on the second floor. It didn’t take much searching to find them-- they were in a large box seated in the middle of the room, buried under a pile of blankets and books. One of the pups had managed to shove it’s head in between the box and the blankets, and ducked back inside when it caught sight of Rung.

Rung came into the room, easing the door shut behind him. It was a small space- he was unsure of it’s purpose, but another door stood open on the other side, leading down to more stairs. It had no windows, Rung assumed the pups had been placed here because it was at the center of the entire boat and thus not as likely to be heard.

Unless, of course, someone left a door open and the pups managed to shove their way through the poorly thought out disguise.

That was surprising above all else-- he’d thought they might be in a sturdy cage rather than simply under books and a stack of thick blankets. Of course, a cage would also be suspicious, whereas a box and some blankets did just fine if the pups were drugged enough…

Perhaps someone had messed up.

Rung clicked. He didn’t want to startle the pups but he didn’t have much time-- the best he could do was keep clicking and whistling and hope that it comforted them.

The books and blankets were easy enough to remove, leaving just the box. It had no cover, so Rung left a single blanket over the top of it in hopes of keeping the pups inside. They had begun click-peeping back at him, and Rung smiled even as he tried his best to figure out how to get them out.  

Looking over to the other door,the open one that led to stairs, he saw it had the potential of possibly leading to one of the lower decks. The box was large, but not so large Rung couldn’t carry it. It was heavy though-- Rung had to stop after his first attempt to lift it. He bent over, hands on his knees, steeling himself.

He could do this.

The pups were depending on it.

He grabbed the edges of the box, balancing it against his stomach and heaved. He got it into the air-- ’ _See? That wasn’t so hard!’_ \-- and started his slow walk towards the stairs.

“Drop it,” snarled a voice. Rung froze, head popping up to see the female “officer” he’d spoken to before-- and her gun.

Her gun, which was trained on him.  

“We got him,” she said into a black mic poking out from her ear. Another officer appeared behind her and she inched her way in, gun raised the entire time, to let him pass.

“Stay where you are,” she ordered. But Rung did _not_ stay-- instead inching slowly towards the door. A soft peep sounded and Rung clutched the box tighter to himself.

They couldn’t have the pups. He wouldn’t let them.

His plan was awful-- he knew it was awful-- but he didn’t exactly have a lot of options. “Just running” didn’t often work, but as long as they didn’t shoot him somewhere vital he should be able to still move. Still find enough time to at least throw the pups out the window, or some such.

It might hurt them, but better bumps and bruises than what the poachers had in store.

Suddenly the boat dipped, groaning as something tossed it in the water.

The mers had begun their charge.

Rung used the distraction to bolt for the door-- or at least to move as fast as he could towards it, considering the weight of the box. It was more of a fast waddle than a sprint, but he got there.

The box, held securely against his stomach, was re-adjusted in the process. It caught against his shirt-- a plain white tee-- the fabric bunched up and rose, revealing a good portion of his scarred stomach, along with the top of his hip.

A symbol, tattooed in black ink, stood out.

So busy in attempting to flee, Rung never realized that he’d only been able to do so because the two poachers chasing him slammed to a stop the second they saw it. He was only able to get as far as he had because they started arguing frantically amongst themselves, about who he could be and who he might be _with._

The hallway he found himself in was quite long, but there was a room at the end that Rung hoped hooked up to the back of the boat. Sure enough, he discovered as he ran for it, it was. Two sliding glass doors led to the lowest deck, one which was not accessible from above. He slid into the room, closing the door behind him and locking it.

All Rung had to do was make it to the water and the mer pups would live.

xXx

It was an absolute frenzy. Despite Magnus’ best efforts, The Wreckers weren’t the only mers out- plenty had showed up who shouldn’t have.

Many of them didn’t have the combat experience needed to do this, not properly. Worse, they were too enraged to follow orders. Whirl knew he was infamous for his temperament, but he’d been accepted into the Wreckers following rigorous testing. He obeyed the majority of commands, no matter how heated things got. Especially in battles. These idiots didn’t.

At least they were keeping the poachers busy. The large boat was guarded by several smaller ones. The untrained mers were doing a fantastic job of keeping them distracted.

When groups of them weren’t ramming the big one, of course.

This still left the problem of getting the pups off the boat though. Whirl circled frantically, trying to guess where they’d been hidden. The boat was large enough that he could jump into the top deck, but it had smaller ones stacked on top of each other in the back. Perhaps he could brute force his way through…

He’d no sooner had the thought then he spotted movement in the lowest room. He swam closer, eyes barely peeking above the surface of the water to hide himself better.

Not that he needed too-- because it was Glasses.

Glasses carrying a very large box.

The human set the box down, frantically trying to get the door open, and no sooner had Whirl realized the thing was likely locked than the poachers on board the boat suddenly realized what had happened.

Shouts filled the air with arguing, the sounds of feet pounding on wood and guns being racked adding to the chaos.

Whirl only needed one shout to get himself moving through, the one yelled by the short blonde man.

“I don’t care! _Get him,_ he’s got the pups!”

xXx 

The door was stuck.

Well, no. It wasn’t stuck.

It was purposely jammed and locked. Possibly glued.

Rung had taken to throwing his shoulder against it before realizing that wouldn’t work and frantically looking around for something to try and break it. All the pups were up now, wailing in a way that completely gave them away.

He didn’t have much time.

He turned his back to the doors, running a hand through his hair and trying to think. The glass was thick, but if he threw something _heavy_ hard enough that wouldn’t matter.

Except there was nothing in the room that fit that description.

Nothing but the box.

“I’m sorry about this,” he told the pups, scooping them up. They struggled in his arms-- one attempted to bite him as he put it down. He placed them out of the way, hefting the box up, widening his stance, and swinging for all he was worth.

The box shattered.

Rung staggered backwards, throwing his (aching) arms up to try and protect himself as the box split into pieces. The pups shrieked and he lowered his arms, looking to see if any of them had been hit.

“Sshh, little ones, it’s alright,” he croaked, knowing it was no use.

The feeling of panic, held back by the adrenaline and his own fatalist mindset, was starting to build. While he cared not for his own demise, the pups _had_ to make it out.

If they didn’t then this was all for naught.

He spun around in the room, desperately trying to think, when his problem was abruptly solved by a rock flying through the glass doors.

From the outside.

He jumped, stumbling back, as the rock flew right past him and into the wall. A familiar shape launched itself through the broken glass shortly after, and it took Rung no time at all to recognize Whirl.

“They’re behind me,” he gasped as Whirl shook himself, minor cuts from the broken glass decorating him in streaks of blood. “Quickly, take them!”

Whirl looked at the crying pups, then back at Rung. He trilled loudly,drawing their attention. He grabbed one as it darted towards him, scooping it up in his arms. He slid backwards, slipping back into the water.

“Corral the other three and hand them to me!” he demanded. Rung was moving to obey before he’d even finished talking.

A bang sounded at the door, accompanied by a shout informing him that he was officially out of time.

xXx

The first pup squealed as they fell into the water together. Whirl whistled harshly, calling out to anyone close to him. Blurr approached rapidly, and no sooner had Whirl spotted him than he’d shoved the pup in his direction.

“Take him, I’m getting the others!” Whirl shouted, already winding himself up to launch his body back on the boat. He could see Glasses holding two of the pups on the deck. The boat’s engines abruptly roared to life and Glasses lurched forward, barely managing not to fall. Whirl aborted his own jump, unwilling to risk the chance that the propeller blades would start spinning at the worst possible time. He surfaced instead.

“Just throw the damn things!” he demanded, holding his arms out. Hitting the water might hurt, but it wouldn’t do that much damage-- mer pups were made to be tough.

Glasses gave him a _look_ , one Whirl could see even in the near-darkness, but complied, gently tossing one to Whirl before waiting and under-handing the other.

Whirl caught the first, using the momentum to place it smoothly into the water beside him before catching the other. Blurr was swimming close, he could feel the sleeker mer buffeting the water around him, and Whirl ducked under the water only to shove both pups in the other Wrecker’s direction.

“One more!” he yelled as Blurr gathered them to him. Others had caught on, Whirl could see their shapes rushing towards them to come take the pups. He whipped about as the boat’s engine tried to get it’s propellers going. Blurr was backing up, as were the other mers, corralling the pups to ensure they didn’t get sucked into the spinning blades. Whirl simply moved with the boat, trying to stay in between the two propellers as they jerked and jumped.

It would be too risky for Glasses to throw the final pup in the water, and Whirl thanked his smarts for knowing to wait until the mer had surfaced to pass said pup off. Unfortunately he would have to be close to catch it, and he couldn’t do that without risking getting sucked into the propellers himself.

Which left jumping back on the boat.

Whirl did so without hesitation.

xXx

_Bang!_

The engine's were catching-- Rung wasn’t sure why the whole thing had started to move yet, but the yelling above him let him know things weren’t going well on the top deck. He didn’t think too hard on it though, as Whirl landed on the deck a moment later.

_Bang!_

“Take him!” Rung said, shoving the final pup at Whirl. The mer did so without comment, flipping himself backwards into the water.

_Bang!_

The door was nearly off it’s hinges now, wood chips and dust flying as one of the poachers rushed it. It shattered with a final _bang!_ \-- the frame cracking as it finally came off it’s hinges. Rung watched as a man, dressed head to toe in security gear and holding a gun clearly designed for taking down a mer, burst through.

He had enough time to wonder if the man would shoot him immediately or bellow demands first before a wall of water hit him from behind.  

Strong arms wrapped around him and Rung had a split second to realize he needed to take a breath before he was yanked backwards into the ocean. The water rushed around him a whirl of blue and black, and he quickly lost the ability to differentiate up from down. The boats engines finally caught, propellers whipping instantly into blurry black circles, as Whirl ducked and dodged. Things were being thrown into the water, trying to drive them back into the propellers-- Rung wasn’t sure if they were harpoons or some other kind of weapon, but Whirl was twirling around enough to successfully avoid getting hit by them. He closed his eyes, trying to keep his stomach from flipping.

Unfortunately Whirl’s maneuvers brought them lower, and it wasn’t long before Rung’s lung’s started to burn. A minute later he felt the first shred of panic and smacked Whirl on the arm. Not getting a response, he pounded on the mers chest instead.

He felt himself get jostled, pushed then spun about. His eyes opened enough to see Whirl’s face come at him and for a brief moment he thought he hadn’t been spared at all, but rather was going to be eaten. Instead Whirl’s lips met his, tongue nudging between his lips, and Rung parted his mouth automatically-- as he had been trained to do.

Air whooshed into his lungs-- enough to buy him another few minutes-- and Whirl pulled away slowly. Rung used the new position to wrap his arms around Whirl’s neck, and the mer was off before he’d even finished tightening his grip. He didn’t dodge this time, simply clutched Rung to him and shot off, clearly going for speed over anything else. He finally veered off a short while later, when Rung’s lungs began to burn again, and twisted upwards, slowing himself only as they approached the surface.

Rung’s head burst through the water and he coughed immediately. He thought Whirl might release him then-- likely leave him-- but the mer simply waited while Rung hacked up water, holding him as Rung let go of his neck in favor of hanging onto his shoulders.  

“Are the little ones safe?” he managed to ask in between gasps.

“Yeah, The Wreckers got ‘em.” Whirl’s voice was oddly unaccented-- clear in the same way Cyclonus and Rodimus’ were, rather than thick like most of the wild mers who picked up the language.

“Good,” he panted. “Good. Thank you.”  

“Wasn’t gonna leave you, Glasses,” Whirl said.

 _‘Glasses?’_ Rung thought, a hand wandering up automatically to his face-- not that it needed to. He’d lost his real ones in the struggle.

“You had every right too,” Rung said, “and you didn’t. Thank you.”

The mer shrugged before shuffling Rung a bit in his arms. “Hold on,” he warned.

He pulled the both of them up out of the water more-- it wasn’t lost on Rung that Whirl was primarily using his forearms rather than his hands-- then flipped gently onto his back. The effect was that Rung was lying on Whirl’s chest and stomach, essentially using him as a flotation device.

“There,” Whirl grunted, settling in. “Relax and enjoy. It’s gonna take a while for everything to settle so we’re gonna wait for the all clear. Or at least the the where-the-fuck-are-you-signal.”

Rung nodded, having no idea what either of those signals-- if the second one even existed-- were. Or what they’d do once they were given. He did as instructed and sat up, legs falling on either side of Whirl, hands on his chest.

“Get comfy. Like I said, we’re gonna be here a while.” Whirl crossed his arms behind his head, peering up at the human perched on his chest. Rung had figured that would be the case and nodded. His lungs no longer burned quite so badly and he took in the calm waters around them. His vision was already reduced by not having his glasses, but there wouldn’t have been much to see anyway. The middle of the ocean was dark, even with an explosion of stars lighting up the cloudless sky. It was quiet-- Rung couldn’t hear a thing, he assumed they had somehow gotten far enough away from the Poachers to be safe out in the open.

The open, which reminded him all to much of things he wished he could forget.

As had this _entire day._

“You got a Netflix account?” Whirl asked suddenly, and it was such an abrupt change of thought that all Rung could do was blurt out an affirmative.

“Username and password?”

Rung, on automatic more than anything, provided those as well. “TheSaferOption and it’s nineteen ninety seven.”

“The safer option?” Whirl questioned.

“Yes, Ratchet-- ah, that’s our local doctor-- has a reputation of being a bit frightening, and people often refer to me as the safer option because I’m the only other doctor in town. Not a medical one though-- I’m a therapist.” He focused on Whirl’s face. _That_ he could see, the mer’s lighter blue coloring separating him easily from the dark water.

Whirl whistled. Not the shrill kind mers used to communicate, but a deep one meant to show appreciation.“Damn. You’re a head shrinker now?”

“I was one before-” He stopped suddenly, pushing down the panic the word “slave” brought up. “Before,” he finished weakly. “It’s what I knew.”

“Can’t decide if returning to it after they fucked you up was stupid or brave,” Whirl said. Then;  “Aw, no,  don’t look like that!” Rung realized he must have made a face. “I got just as fucked up! Probably more!”

“No contest,” Rung agreed. He had been forced through a lot of despicable things, but he had not been forced to fight-- and kill-- for years on end. He had at least been _talked to_ rather than simply _looked at_.

Whirl shot him a delighted grin.

“You’re just full of surprises human, thought you’d fight me on that one,” he remarked.

“What was done to me...” Rung couldn’t put words to it. He knew he should talk about it to someone-- had known that better than anyone given his profession-- but his trust in people, in life, in _everything_ , had been broken. He didn’t know if telling anyone could somehow come back to get him, could send him back-- dead Master or no. So he’d kept it all to himself. “ ...was not equal to what they put you through,” he concluded.

“I dunno about that. I saw them do some _nasty_ shit to you.”

Rung’s eyes widened at that, startled. “You were watching?”

“Enough to get an idea.”

That was... a frightening thought. He had known he was being observed, his Master had made that quite clear to him. But he’d forgotten that even the other beings that were captured and controlled by his Master also saw him.

That Whirl knew was worse than anyone else knowing. He couldn’t deceive him. Couldn’t lie or downplay his scars-- his experiences. Not like he did to his neighbors, or those he even considered friends. Couldn’t pretend his own worth was higher than it was. Rung didn’t know what all Whirl knew-- what all he saw-- but any of it was enough to make him wary.

He was the favorite toy for far too long-- was forced to do more than most of his Master’s human stable. If Whirl had seen even a third of what he’d had to do…

His stomach cramped suddenly, the thoughts giving way to gnawing fear. Rung took a breath, forcing it away.

There was no need to think like that. Not yet anyway, when Whirl hadn’t done him any wrong.

“Still,” Rung said stiffly, the unwanted memories eating away through his mental blocks, “I did not have to fight for my life.”

“On the contrary,” Whirl said, yellow eye burning in the darkness. “You fought for your life, _and_ ours. And won. I think it’s past time that you got a nice little thank you for that.”

 _‘What a good little pet. Shall I thank you for your service?’_ The memory was clear as day, oddly fresh and Rung’s breath caught as he forced himself to push it away. He hadn’t had a flashback like that in a long time-- but then he hadn’t been exposed to as many triggers as he had been today.

Rung tried his best to get himself back under control.

“You don’t have to do that, Whirl,” Rung said, and then froze, realizing his mistake. “Ah sorry. Your name-”

“Is still Whirl. It was Whirl before they got me.” Whirl’s grin was back, widening enough to show his fangs.

The fact his captors had known that fun fact long before he’d learned English was one of the many things that still burned at him almost two decades later. Because that meant someone who spoke mer-- or more likely a mer itself-- had been watching him. Had orchestrated his capture. Had murdered his parents. Had caused _everything_.

But that was a rage best suited for another time.

“Looks like you recovered pretty well though,” Whirl continued and the gnawing was back. Memories too strong to be ignored flooded him-- the very thoughts of what Whirl might have seen him do. What he might have unknowingly performed in front of the Mer…

Rung suddenly couldn’t keep his calm front anymore. The mask was slipping, his control with it, and though he struggled to keep it off his face he knew it was breaking through. It wasn’t over though because Whirl was still speaking, had asked a question in fact-

“Anyway enough about me, I’m more curious about _you_. How’d you manage to get the collar off?”

-and it was rude not to answer.

_‘You will only speak when asked a direct question. You will always answer every question I ask. You will always respond to every command I give.’_

Rung clung to the remaining piece of sanity he had left, tried to use it to guide himself through his question. He just had to get through his question and then he could change the topic, regain some composure… “I had a friend help take it off,” Rung said after a shuddering breath.

Whirl gave the appreciate whistle again. “Some friend! That thing was high tech, we had to short mine out to get it off. Took some time. You do it wrong and the stupid thing tightens instead of opening.”

Something Rung knew _very_ well, because that had been exactly what his had done when he'd tried to remove it. He’d been lucky-- it hadn’t closed his airway, but it had caused enough problems to cut into his throat. He’d hidden it for as long as he could but it continued rubbing away at his skin, re-opening old scars, and it hadn’t been long before it had become infected.

Leaving Rung with no choice about its removal-- not that he’d been allowed to come to that decision either. One of his co workers-- the ones he’d had before establishing his new practice-- had squealed on him to Ratchet.

So much for just one more question. “I know,” he said. His throat tightened at the memory, combined with the burning, twisting thing in his stomach.

His grip was slipping. His emotions, long suppressed, surged to the surface, determined to break free.

“What about the brand? They give you one of those too?”

Whirl’s voice sounded oddly far away. Rung’s heart began to pound, adding its own misery into the mix, because the thing about not telling anyone about things like this is that-- when you do finally talk about it-- the emotions you suppressed come right back up. Rung had already been on edge-- from the entire pup-stealing ordeal, to the vast blackness of the ocean he was floating in, to all the questions-- and he couldn’t hold it in anymore. Worse-- he felt entirely unprepared for it. In retrospect it had been building for a while, but that didn’t stop him from feeling like it all hit him all at once, out of nowhere.

Rung’s body tensed, shoulders hunching, and this was _not_ what he wanted to be doing now, certainly not with a mer who’d been kept by his Master as well! Not with one who admitted that he’d _seen_ Rung as his Master’s plaything! This was the last being on _Earth_ Rung should be having this meltdown in front of!

Whirl said something else but Rung didn’t hear it, too busy choking back emotions, lost in a place he didn’t want to be in. He struggled, losing the fight to control the tears that flooded his eyes. He bowed his head as they won, as his emotions broke free and for the first time since the first month he’d escaped, Rung _broke down._

“Hey, shit no, don’t do that-” And then something garbled in Mer, as Whirl’s body moved down into the water, bringing his arms up and hugging Rung to him so that they floated vertically. “I got you. I got you, sshh, hey come on I’m _awful_ at this.” He was trying to make it playful, and knew he wasn’t succeeding. “Glasses, look at me.” He nudged Rung’s head with his own-- a mer gesture rather than a human one, as he was unwilling to use his claws, until Rung finally pulled back. When he caught his eyes he said; “You’re with me, not them. Never again will you ever be with them. They’re _dead.”_

Rung looked back, eyes wet with tears, face crumpled with emotions-- and Whirl knew what this was. Had seen it in pet mers who’d been rescued by the Autopod. This was someone who hadn’t processed a damn thing about what had happened, whose brain was balking at the very thought of trying to hold a conversation about it even fourteen years later.

Rung started to shake and Whirl realized it was, perhaps, a bit more serious than even that.

 _Fuck Whirl, are you_ bad _at this!_

He needed his tail to keep them afloat, and his arms to keep Rung with him, and clearly he couldn't use his hands, so he went back to nudging at Rung with his head. “Sssh, ssshh.” _Think Whirl, distractions! He needs distractions!_ “It, uh- helps me to talk. About other crap. You wanna?” Which was a lame as hell offer, but also all he had.

“Talk?” Rung choked out in-between heavily stifled sobs. Whirl kept their heads pressed together even though it fucked both their visions. _Not that Glasses could likely see all that well anyway._

“Yeah. We’ll do it 20 Questions style so you can quiz me too. I’ll start!” He kept his voice light. He’d been kept well away from any kind of recovering mer, and it had been a while before he felt okay letting his subpod know even half of the details of his own-- rather obvious-- capture. But he _had_ talked about it, or at least some of it. He didn’t have a worry that any of them would send him back. The Functionists’ reach was far, but with the entire Council dead and likely a good half of the higher ups, their reach had faltered. Whirl was safe in the water.

The same couldn’t be said for Rung on land.

“What’s your real name?” Whirl continued, trying to engage the human, trying to remember anything at all he was taught about approaching someone with deep issues. He himself had so many problems he usually didn’t care to pay attention to that kind of thing, and he regretted that now.

“It’s Rung.” Rung didn’t even think to give his full name-- just went to show how much the town had grown on him.

“Rung.” Whirl tried it out, repeating it a few times to stretch out the syllables. “R- _uuuung_.” It was fun to say, so Whirl said it in a few different voices. Then he finally stopped, ending with, “It suits you.”

“Thank you,” Rung muttered, hiccuping. He pulled back slightly, not bothering to rub his face. His shirt was soaked, there was no point.

“Still gonna call you Glasses though.”

“That is acceptable,” Rung said, which made Whirl snort.

“Seems you know my name already, so forgive me if I skip that part of the introductions. Now,” he jostled Rung ever so gently, “it’s your turn to ask somethin’!”

Rung took a moment, still shaking, before he made an attempt. “How- how do you know so much about human culture? I didn’t think they,” His voice cracked on the last word and he ignored it, as did Whirl, “would teach you anything.”

“Come _onnnn_ , I already answered that one! Netflix! Give me a better one. Ask me about my good looks!” Whirl said it with a whine, purposefully trying to sound as ridiculous as possible. See? Wasn’t he just hilarious? Haha look at silly Whirl and not at all your awful inner demons!

“It couldn’t have _just_ been Netflix,” Rung said quietly. 

“Well no, the guards got bored a lot and they used those fancy little computers that weren’t meant to ever hook up to basic cable to watch all kinds of crap.” Like every football game ever, and so much porn, holy fuck. “Not to mention the crew that brought in the Playstation.” Whirl grinned. “‘ ‘S how I learned English. My first word was ‘motherfucker.’”

Rung gave a shaky smile at that.

“You kept up with it then? I- The only mers I know who are as acclimated as you appear to be are ones who grew up with humans, and I was under the impression you were wild caught.” He was calming down now, the shaking not quite as obvious, so Whirl kept it up.  

“Was. And I did, if nothing more than for the TV shows and the ability to swear at humans. Ya’ll are so easily offended, it's an absolute blast to swear at boats and watch them think it’s each other doing it.”

He couldn’t exactly believe it, but Rung was getting a hold of himself faster than he thought he would. Bottling up that emotion was not healthy, Whirl knew that-- he got yelled about doing it himself at least once a week. But out here in the middle of the ocean with poachers running about wasn’t exactly the best place either. Nor was Whirl certain he should be the one Rung finally broke down to.

He knew he wasn’t the best person to figure out this shit with. _Everyone_ knew that.

But he’d damn well try here and now get Rung together, at least until he went to someone he trusted. He had someone he trusted right?

Maybe?

Shit.

“Your-” Rung stopped. He chewed on his lip, glancing away so he was no longer looking Whirl in the eye. “Your humor about the whole thing is-”

“Awful?” Whirl asked playfully. “Annoying? I get annoying a lot.”

“-surprising, but refreshing,” Rung said.

“Aw don’t be nice just cause I saved your cute, shapely butt.”  

Rung blinked at that, equally surprised by the flirting as he was by Whirl’s general personality. Not that his prior encounters with the Mer had ever involved anything other than watching a fight or someone threatening,or attempting to,throw him in Whirl’s tank to kill him. An individual's personality didn’t exactly shine in life or death scenarios.

He did, however, recall a number of taunts, including the Mer flipping his Master off on a handful of occasions.

“I just- sorry I know this is silly, but I never guessed you’d be like this. I realize how ironic that is, given my own personality doesn’t indicate my own trials but I had assumed-”

“That I’d be a crazed beast? Cause I am.” Whirl cocked a fanged grin. “But I’m also a smartass who enjoys stealing waterproof phones and using people's Netflix accounts.”

Rung finally turned his head back to Whirl’s at that. “Is that why you asked for mine?”

“Yeah.” Whirl playfully narrowed his eye. “You change the password and so help me I’ll leave you the next time some idiot tries to kill you.”

“Looks as though you’ve forced my hands. I’ll have to remember to leave it.”

“Good. My tu~urn!” Whirl sing-songed. “How’d you end up involved in this mess? Didn’t think you’d wanna go near an ocean, let alone mers ever again.” Then he almost hit himself because good job Whirl, you just spent all that time trying to get Rung not think about things like that, only to ask a direct question!

 _‘Just let the poachers shoot me now.’_ He moaned internally, but Rung didn’t flinch at the question. Seemed to think it over in fact.  

“I did not, at first,” Rung agreed. “But it became apparent to me in the first year that nowhere I lived would ever feel safe. Larger cities were overwhelming- I was not used to being in the company of so many people and found doing so to be difficult. I decided that a smaller town might be the better option simply due to you learning most of your neighbors.”

And also that’s where his junker car-- his only possession at the time and one he’d done some rather... awful, things to get-- had broken down. He hadn’t had a lot of options.

“‘Ight but why a beach town?” Whirl asked.

A good question. He’d found work rather quickly here-- Mirror Beach was large enough to require retail workers but not so large to be disqualified as a small town. He’d chosen the nearest fast food restaurant with a For Hire sign out front. From there it had been less about what he wanted and more about how the town seemed to have adopted him. He’d been recommended a job at the library, applied for it with some slight pushing, and then finally branched back into psychology with further pushing.

He still sent thank you letters to Ratchet, the Primary Pusher, for doing so on each anniversary of the opening of his office.

But that was getting back into things he didn’t necessarily want to discuss. Left too many open questions-- like why he was living out of his car and why he’d let himself be pushed.

“Despite my issues with the ocean, I found I had grown used to the sounds of it. It was the only comfort I had- I knew where I was in relation to it. In the house, in one of the boats,” Rung trailed off for a moment. “Not being able to hear it was too close to some of... it panicked me more than not. I ended up here purely for monetary reasons, it was priced in a way that was affordable and it had no acting psychologist, so I felt it would be a good fit. I became involved in today's escapes because I am often called on for intense negotiation situations.”

He’d long ago discovered that enough truths twisted in with the lies made the two indistinguishable. Mirror Beach was affordable and did not have a psychologist. He was called on for negotiations and he had come because he felt he was needed-- but also because that’s what this community did.

The rest of it didn’t need to be said.  

“How-” He paused, seemingly gathering courage. Whirl didn’t press him. “How are your hands?” Rung asked. “I recall you had a number of issues keeping them. Are they still working?”

“See for yourself.” Whirl raised one up, letting Rung inspect it. “Works just fine. Knew a guy who knew a guy.”

“Do you have motor control now?” Rung’s hands hovered beside Whirl’s, clearly wanting to touch.

“Some. And only in that hand.” Whirl raised up his right as well, so Rung could compare the two. “The other was too messed up to get a read on the nerves-- that’s how they got it to move-- so it’s been modified just to help me hunt n’ shit. Careful,” he cautioned as Rung took the left one into his hands to examine. “I can retract the claws on the right but the left doesn’t work like that.”

He was correct-- the left’s two fingers were slightly larger than the right’s four, and were modified into sharp, pointed things. The ones on the right more closely resembled a normal mer’s hand, the claws short-- and yes, retractable, Rung saw as Whirl demonstrated. The claws left blunt fingers in their wake, the pads of his fingers tipped with a rubber like substance.

The skin leading up to it was heavily scarred, white lines streaking up and down his arms. One went all the way to the crook of his elbow. Rung glanced at Whirl, before carefully moving his fingers down, to touch some.

“Do they hurt?” he asked gently.

“Sometimes,” Whirl answered. “I lost a few more inches on my arms when I got out-- the skin had grown attached to it.”

“Mine ache,” Rung admitted, a finger lightly tracing one of the thicker lines. “How much depends on the day.”

“Yeah?” Whirl said, equally as captivated by Rung as the human seemed to be by him.

It was odd, he’d spent his entire life once out of his owner’s grip away from humans. The only time he’d gone near them was to antagonize, or in some cases bulldoze, and Magnus had had more than one talk with him about toning the aggression down. Despite all that, here he was.

Attention held rapt by a human.

It wasn’t just any human though, and he knew that. He _knew_ this one, even if he hadn’t really spoken to him before.

Knew him better than he knew most of his pod.

A cry rang out under the water-- a mer’s.  

Whirl stilled, waiting for the confirming echos, and Rung hadn’t even realized how relaxed the mer was until he did. His head turned, a finned ear dipping under the water.  

“That’s the signal,” he said finally. “We’re good to go. Sounds like one of the police boats-- the real police-- is headed in the same direction as my pod’s meeting spot. You gonna be okay if I drop you off there?”

“Yes.” Rung ducked his head, so Whirl couldn’t see his face. “And thank you, again.”

Whirl just smiled. “Anytime.”

xXx

They were relieved to see him.

“We had multiple boats out looking for you-- don’t worry about yours either. We recovered it, Ratchet took it back to the docks.” Jazz said, helping him aboard their boat, the _real_ Coast Guard boat. “We’ll get one of our guys to contact him, let ‘em know we found you.”

“Thank you,” Rung said, shivering. He had been before, but it was much more noticeable now that he was out of the water. He turned, hugging himself, to face back towards Whirl. He’d intended to thank the mer again, only to see the top of Whirl’s head as he sunk under the surface. A second later a thick tail flicked above the water, the last sign of him before he left them entirely.

Jazz stared at the now vacant space of water. “Isn’t that the one they warned us about?” he said, amused.

“Yes,” Prowl said, one eyebrow raised. “It was. Are you alright, Doctor?”

“Fine,” Rung said, wrapping a blanket someone had given him around himself. “Though if you have any kind of warm beverage, I would be quite grateful.”

“Of course,” Prowl turned and Jazz followed, waving for Rung to follow him as well into the cabin. “You can give us a report while you drink,” he added. Rung nodded, already editing what he’d say in his head.

He’d hold nothing back about the poachers, but his discussion with Whirl was not something he wished to make known.

He sank into the plastic cushions of the couch and tried to ignore the odd feeling of loss leaving Whirl behind gave him. He had other things to focus on, other things to do He filed the entire encounter with his strangely charming mer counterpart away into the same places he hid all his feelings.

Deep down, to where they couldn’t be touched. Wouldn’t be remembered, unless they forced their way back up.

He’d had a rough day was all. Whirl might have brought about all kinds of thoughts about his past-- reactions and emotions he’d thought long buried, but it wasn’t as if he’d ever need to face them again. They had saved the pups and gotten a good look at the poachers. Rung’s part was done. He’d never see Whirl again.

A small part of him didn’t like that, but he shoved it down with everything else. Focused on the story he was about to tell.

He caught Prowl’s eye and nodded once, to show he was ready to do just that.

xXx]

“I thought you didn’t like humans,” Blurr said, floating easily next to Whirl. The pups had been returned to their parents, the meetings held to discuss the entire incident had come and gone, and now most everyone was asleep.

Most, meaning not all.

“I don’t like anyone regardless of their species. Including you,” Whirl snapped back, slamming a clam against a rock to open it.

Perhaps with a bit more force than necessary.

“You like _that_ human though.” Blurr was twisting in the water, showing off his lithe body. He’d been a favorite of the Cybertron pod, back when it still existed. Something about how fast he was and how hot he ran.

At least, that’s what Whirl was told.

“How the hell did you figure that? Cause I didn’t kill him? That would’ve broken the treaty you moron. Now fuck off, I got shit to do.” Like getting this stupid damn clam open without shattering it. Ugh, it’s like they were either too fragile or too hard! No inbetween!

This is why he liked shrimp.

None of this hard shell bullshit.

“When have you ever cared about the treaty?” Blurr asked.

“When it keeps all our asses from getting kicked out, that’s when. This is your last warning to scram.” Whirl flashed his fangs, his singular yellow eye burning in the dark.

Blurr huffed at him, swimming away with a disgusted flick of his tail. Whirl let him go without comment, needing to be alone. Needing to process a few things.

Like Rung being alive.

The revelation had haunted him since he’d seen the human on the boat a week ago. He’d honestly never expected to see him again-- clearly, the same could be said for Rung, he’d looked just as startled to see Whirl-- but with the conversation they had just had…

It twisted things inside him up more than he wanted to admit to. Even to himself.

He used to fantasized about killing Rung. He was a clear favorite of Whirl’s owner, one of the many humans constantly present at his fights. It had taken him a few years to realize Rung was just as trapped as he was. To get close enough to see the collar, nearly identical to Whirl’s own, wrapped around the small human’s neck.

There were other signs too. No one who was in service to One left unscathed. Rung would appear in worse conditions-- more scars, often starved, eyes dead or glassy. He had the same outlook many of the mers who fought there did.

The same wish for death.

As Rung had fallen from favor the care he’d been given had decreased. One enjoyed putting people in escalating situations. Their species didn’t matter to him, nor did their survival.

As far as Whirl could tell, everything he did was simply for his own entertainment.

By the time Rung had been held over Whirl’s tank, Whirl was more than aware that the smaller human was in the same position as he was. In here they were all fighting for their lives.

Once he’d noticed Rung he’d noticed the other kept humans too. Rung had lasted longer than any of the others. He had struggled and fought even after years of not doing so, and thus won his life time and time again by surprising someone who thought themselves unable to be surprised.

He’d won Whirl’s admiration too.

Admiration he knew was not mutual. Rung was given to mers as rewards-- not to him, never to him, because Whirl had a pattern of murdering anyone stupid enough to get within reaching distance-- and had been abused by them just as he had been by their master. He’d been thrown into shallow tanks with mers coming in high off drugs, adrenaline, and victory. He’d been used as bait and as a reward. By mers hoping to eat him alive as well as studs being trained for the new mating season. Rung had every reason to hate mers just as much as anything else. Had just as much reason to want them all to burn when the facility went down.

He hadn’t let them though.

Had saved them, in fact.

No one acted like that. Not other mers, not humans-- no one. To see someone who’d been fed so much cruelty still reach out in kindness was the kind of shocking thing that made you rethink some of your positions on life.

Whirl had done a lot of thinking. About Rung. About himself. About what he wanted to do after he’d been freed, and about the decisions he’d made. The Wreckers didn’t quite trust him. That was obvious. The Autopod was too large to know each of its members individually, but he was without a doubt the most aggressive member. People knew of him long before they met him.

The oddest thing of all was that he used to be _worse._

Rung had curbed that aggression, even inadvertently as it was. Whirl had been prepared to die when the faculty had gone down. It wasn’t how he had wanted to go-- he’d hoped if nothing else he’d succumb to a fighter finally better than he was-- but the guards and scientists and keepers had bailed within minutes of hearing the alarms. With everything locked down and the entire place falling apart, it hadn’t taken long for the majority of mers to realize they were witnessing the beginning of their end.

Rung had gone out of his way to free them. Had sought them out even when it risked ending his own life, or continuing his imprisonment. He had overcome-- well, Whirl didn’t know the exact details but you didn’t spend nearly a decade as a slave just to up and start disobeying orders like that. Not even under duress. The Functionists _broke_ people. It was their entire goal. They broke everything they came into contact with, reshaped it to their will, and yet there were things they never could quite reach. People who just wouldn’t cave, no matter how it appeared.

Whirl had been delighted to discover Rung was one of those people. Even more so when Rung himself had been the one to get them all out.

Made you look at yourself-- at the way you did things-- just a touch more.

He was aggressive, absolutely, but he was no longer out of control. The dark thing inside him that insisted he lash out had shrunken, the voice snarling distrust and lies eased. It wasn’t lost on him that he’d spent most his life doing his damndest to make sure no human ever tamed him. Had hated them most of his life, and yet had allowed one to calm him, change him, simply by existing. It wasn’t a conscious decision-0 he just hadn’t been able to get the therapist out of his head.

Their latest encounter hadn’t helped that any.

_‘But it’s done now. The pups are safe, Rung’s back on land, and you’re never going to see him again.’_

Perhaps if he said it often enough, it wouldn’t sound quite so much like a lie.

xXx

_Two weeks later..._

He wasn’t stalking Rung.

He was hanging out near the human settlement, in their waters, because _that’s where the pup stealing boats came from, thank you Springer._

Fucking nosy fish.

“Don’t lie.” Said fucking-nosy-fish gave a smile that would’ve made the Cheshire Cat proud. “The boats came from all different directions. We had no solid lead on one, and half the time you're out here you're on the human box.”

“It’s a smart phone, future-food. Get with the times,” Whirl snipped, giving up the pretense of ignoring the green mer.

“I’d rather leave the human tech to Perceptor and Wheeljack,” Springer replied, but his smile faded into something more serious. Whirl waited, recognizing the signs. The SIC of the Wreckers wanted a Serious Discussion, one so serious it warranted capital letters.

And Springer didn’t disappoint. “Whirl, you knew that human,” he said.

They both knew he meant Rung.

Whirl tensed. Muscles in his back twitched, trying to flare fins that were long gone. “So what?” He wasn’t snapping. He totally wasn’t. If his tone was anything but friendly, then that was Springer’s fault for interrupting his precious alone time.

Not that he had much of anything _but_ alone time. He was pod, but that didn’t mean the other mers liked being near him.

Springer, long used to being the one to deal with Whirl (and by far the one with the most successful at it) didn’t react. “Whatever is between you...I’ve never seen something get to you like this. No, don’t,” he raised a hand, cutting off Whirl’s protest, “it’s more obvious than you think. I know the others don’t, but I _trust you_ , Whirl. You’re a Wrecker. You don’t need to do these things alone.”

“Yeah? I think we’re gonna have to disagree on that.”

Their talk had caused them to float closer to land than either had realized. The mess of boats-- the “docks,” the humans called them, were close enough that Whirl could read the names of the things off their sides.

As well as hear conversations.

Whirl’s hearing was better than most. It had heightened over the years in some kind of compensation for his loss of eyesight. Whirl relied on it almost more than he did his vision. This, combined with his strong English skills, meant he was long used to being used as a spy. His job included overhearing what the humans were up to-- and his brain automatically focused on the conversation had by two such humans walking the docks.

One of which sounded oddly familiar.

Springer was still talking, trying to both soothe him and needle him for information. Whirl ignored him because that voice-- he knew it, the memories tugging at him. If he could just place it-!

Then he did.

Whirl froze again, this time for an entirely different reason. The fins that stretched around the ends and in between the points of his tail were still small, having only begun to grow out once he’d joined the Autopod, but they did their best to flare out in warning and Springer reacted automatically.

His head whipped about, seeking out the danger, his eyes landing on two suited men standing on a dock not far off.

Whirl hissed.

“I knew it. I fucking knew it!” he snarled.

“You know them?” Springer asked.

“Yeah. They’re from the Functionist Society. That guy on the right? That’s _Five._ Thought the bastard died with the rest, but all it takes is one lobster to live before there are dozens.”

And lobsters were the cockroaches of the sea.

In the same moment that thought hit him another came with it, and that one got him moving.

“Where are you going!?” Springer yelled after him, but he was gone by then, lost in his own head.

Because if they were after pups then that meant they were building-- had likely already built-- a new facility. New fighting rings, new tanks, new stadiums.

Trying to get new mers.

It meant they’d be after not just him-- but _Rung_.

And now they knew he was alive, just as they knew Whirl was.

_‘Fuck.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> Note 1) Originally Cliffjumper was going to be the one bitching about trusting pet mers and humans, but I had forgotten while writing a future fic that he was in here as a mer and wrote him as a human, so he had to be swapped out. Arcee is a Wrecker by Association according to the Tfwiki, which ended up being better than Cliffjumper. 
> 
> Note 2) Mers only have one gender-they are capable of breeding and donating sperm. Pronouns are more of a preference. Mostly they go by male pronouns because they were referred to as that in most human languages for a long, long time but Arcee was typically referred to as being female due to her pink/red coloring (because gendering colors ya’ll!) and just rolled with it. 
> 
> Note 3) Some of the police are in on the poaching, most are not. The Functionists’ people let the local PD they have in their pockets deal with any kind of interference. 
> 
> Note 4) They recognize Rung’s tattoo--one Whirl also has-- and let him go because they don’t know what to do. Lower grunts have only ever seen that tattoo on people who were dead loyal-- or otherwise belonged-- to the Functionalists, and automatically think Rung is either in on things or has been sent to check up on them and their operation. By the time they realize otherwise it’s too late.
> 
> Note 5) Rung is at risk because he can cause some serious issues for the Functionalists. He has to be caught. There’s a pretty high bid out there for Whirl too. Whirl knows this, and knows they will be hunted if found.
> 
> Note 6) For the West Coast (or my part anyway) Netflix streaming became a big thing around 2011. Although he did know of Netflix a bit before that, from their whole DVD mailing service. So was Angry Birds, of which Whirl plays a lot of.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I've been mortally distracted.
> 
> This chapter was edited by the wonderful Interrobam! Without them this would just be sad. They also draw KICKASS art of this fic!!
> 
> Warning: Mentions of rape, torture, slavery (unwilling/forced) BDSM, fights to the death, PTSD, scars, kidnapping, invasive medical procedures, complete lack of consent, blood, gore, child slavery/kidnapping, people getting eaten by mers, stealing, mentions of people eating mers / pups as a delicacy, Xeno (?? - I lean more towards Xeno with the human/mer fish thing, over anything else) thoughts and prevention of suicide, general violence, annnd I think that’s it. If there are more I will add as I go, this warning will be in every chapter rather than my normal individual chapter warnings. If I missed one shoot me a message and I’ll add it!

* * *

 

Swerve had called a meeting. 

Rung wasn’t surprised. Even though Swerve wasn’t there, he’d likely learned about the incident from Tailgate (his roommate) and Cyclonus (whom Rung was fairly positive was  _ also _ his roommate; ‘Gate had bought the houseboat for a reason, after all).

The meeting was scheduled during the bar’s single day off, two days after the poachers had made their last attempt, but that didn’t stop Swerve from pouring everyone drinks as they arrived. 

“So, to recap,” Swerve, a short guy who proudly described himself as “The Chubbiest Guy Ever, capitals T, C, G and E.”  said, leaning on the end of the bar where it circled into something of a half-table, “we have poachers, in _our_ waters, stealing _mer babies_?” 

“Correct.” Cyclonus said. It was something of a trick getting him and Rodimus into the bar-- Swerve kept proclaiming that his next big project was going to be turning the lower half of the place into a water bar, structural problems be damned-- but the fact that the building was out on stilts and hung partly into the ocean helped. As it was, Cyclonus balanced easily on a high backed stool, his tail residing in a small kiddie pool. Rodimus had his own after the Great Splashing Incident, and the two of them were local enough that, so long as there weren’t too many tourists in the bar, they came regularly. 

Regularly enough for Swerve to have figured out how make alcoholic drinks that wouldn’t kill them. 

“Worse than that.” Drift blew out a breath, not looking at anyone. The room focused on him-- they all knew that look. 

It wasn’t a good one.

“What have you heard?” Cyclonus asked, blunt as always. Not everyone in the room knew the details of Drift’s past, but most knew enough to turn to him as their prime source on the world’s shadier dealings.  

Drift didn’t keep in contact with many friends from his self-labeled “old life.” He had cut ties entirely, with only a small number of exceptions. He’d kept the reasons for those exceptions to himself, but many guessed it was so he could hear if trouble was brewing-- or coming after him.

Even all these years later, Drift was paranoid something would target those he loved. Ratchet disapproved of the contacts he maintained, but let his fiancé be, knowing it eased his anxiety to check in now and then. The sources Drift used were the very few he trusted from back then-- and every soul seated around the bar knew just how hard it was to earn Drift’s trust.

They’d all done it, after all. 

Drift blew another hard breath, bangs ruffling with the force of it. “There are rumors. The people I spoke to think this mess is connected to that- to  _ them. _ ” 

“ _ Them _ ?” Swerve asked, fully captivated. He was the only person present who was a born resident of Mirror Beach, in a room full of people who had far more experience with the darker side of life than he had. He still found it all exciting. 

No one else did.

“These aren’t run of the mill poachers we’re dealing with,” Drift said, still staring off into space. “These were well organized and well trained people. Ex-military for some of them, definitely. Ex-military with some serious resources. All those boats running about was not something a mid-level seller on the black market would be able to pull off. Hell, it’s a lot for even some of the best known sellers.” He tapped a rhythm on the desk, chewing on his lip. “The funding, the way you said they acted-” He cut a glance to Rung, indicating he was speaking of not just the police officers and Ratchet, but the therapist’s part of the story. “It all gives those rumors  lot of weight. More than I like.”

Swerve leaned forward, hands grasping a glass so hard it nearly cracked. “Gives  _ what  _ weight?” he pressed. 

Drift looked at him. “The Functionist Society.”

Two seats over from him, Rung froze. 

Swerve just looked disappointed. “Who?” he asked, slightly upset the answer wasn’t more dramatic. 

“They're big ticket spenders-- and buyers. You have a hundred-grand or so and want to organize a private mer hunting party?” Drift looked to Rodimus, trailing off purposefully. 

“They’re your guys.” Rodimus continued, picking up his cue. “You want a best of the best, fully trained mer fighter? They’re who you call.” 

“I’ve never heard of them,” Ratchet said with a frown. 

“Most people haven’t. They’re the  _ elite,  _ Ratch.” His fiancé looked at him, concerned. “Wealthy people with more money than morals. Turmoil refused to work for them.” 

Which carried substantially more weight than anything else that had been said so far. Ratchet had never met Turmoil, but he had heard Drift’s stories. Had known of him before he’d met Drift in fact, from doing some stints for the local PD back when he worked in big cities. That man turned nothing down.

Rung’s neck itched and he rubbed at it, trying to get himself to breathe. His shirt-- one of his normal turtlenecks-- suddenly felt tight on his throat. Constricting. 

Choking. 

His mind raced, desperate to contradict Drift. To find something-- something he saw, something someone said-- that would indicate that it was anything,  _ anyone  _ other than the Society. 

Drift and Rodimus kept talking, the others asking questions-- but Rung didn’t hear any of it. He thought back to how many boats seemed to be involved in the poaching case, how concerned Prowl and Jazz were. The fact that the FBI was involved at all. How the poachers had gotten inside the town’s own police department. How much money they must have had  to pull it off. But above all...

How likely it was they had never truly “died” in the first place.

The Society’s members were global--their influence spanning people in more walks of life than any other organization to date. Simply taking out the top Council would have hurt it-- and allowed for not just Rung’s escape but a collapse of their inner system-- but it wasn’t something  _ unrecoverable _ .

Deep down, Rung had always known they’d rebuild. 

The fact they were going after mers was the biggest sign of all. They had rings of power, levels one had to work to achieve access to, and only those at the top truly knew how much the Society controlled. But every member-- everyone who had heard of them-- knew about their mers.

Thus, mers would be the first thing they returned to, once their internal structure was stable.

There were no loopholes, no disparities. Drift was right. All evidence pointed to it. 

The Functionist Society was back. 

The room suddenly snapped back into place. Rung flinched as the volume around him seemed to rise sharply. Rodimus was arguing with Cyclonus, Drift backing him up, Ratchet trying to interject. He took a shuddering breath, feeling like the world was ending. Swerve had placed a drink in front of him-- an alcoholic root beer he was constantly side eyed for ordering. (“Because you look like you should be drinking fine wine, or whiskey or something!” Swerve had told him, the first time he had ordered it. He had smiled, insisted it was a personal favorite. Nevermind that he could never touch most wines or whiskeys again-- One had favored so many of them. A trashy, “junk drink” like alcoholic root beer? That was something Rung’s old Master would have never touched-- and thus, it was safe to consume.) 

Rung grabbed it, taking a few heavy swallows. It tilted out of his hands, nearly falling back to the bar as he finished it. Rung let it fall, careless. He looked at the people around him-- the people he tentatively called friends. People he had ties to, no matter how hard he had tried to avoid building such things. 

Good people. Whole people.

They didn’t deserve to have that taken away from them. To be broken, as Rung had. 

He had never  _ meant  _ to get close to anyone. Never  _ meant  _ to make himself a home. That hadn’t been the plan, back when he’d first escaped. He’d meant to be a drifter for life, to best prevent any kind of re-capture. A splintered Society, even with it’s leaders dead, wasn’t completely defanged. There were so many members, so many people involved,world wide. Rung had known he’d never be safe, and had sworn to do his best to be vigilant, to keep himself out of their hands. But he’d let the free years calm him, let himself be lulled into a life. With a growing sense of horror, he realized that that would now be his downfall. 

His friends. His home.

He couldn’t let the Society have them. 

They would never strike preemptively. They did their research. If they chose Mirror Beach to be one of their locations for kidnapping mer pups-- and there would be more than one location-- then there was a reason for it. They must have already infiltrated their small, sleepy city-- the bribed cops’ involvement had proven that. This wasn’t over-- the exact opposite, in fact. This was only the beginning. 

Things were going to get out of hand, quickly. Due to that, due to the danger presented, there were things people in this room needed to know.

Answers only Rung could give. 

“The Society,” Rung interrupted, not caring what direction the conversation had gone in, if he was still on topic, “is made up of wealthy individuals. They number themselves, as to avoid use of their real names, and engage in a variety of illegal activities. Anything the upper eleon wants, the Society has-- and is willing to provide. For a price.” Literally anything-- or anyone. Rung swallowed back memories. “They specialize in trafficking and are well known in the underground for their-” ‘ _ Don’t choke, don’t choke _ ,’ “top quality products. They have their hands in everything-- fighting, breeding, showing, catching, eating…anything you can think of.” 

The group had fallen silent, Drift having stopped speaking the second Rung started. They stared at him as the information sank in. 

“Eating?” Rodimus asked, fins going flat against his back.

“Mers are considered a delicacy in many countries. Pups even more so.” Years of experience kept the emotion off Rung’s face. The memories, the pain. “They are believed to solve medical ailments, among other things. Some rituals require them to be...  alive.” 

He would know, he’d been forced to attend a few. The pups screaming as they were eaten, tail up, was one of the few stand-out moments from his enslavement. He’d seen so many horrors under them, but the images of the Council  laughing as the babies cried, of his Master’s delight as they screamed, far longer than Rung thought they’d last

“You seem to know a lot about this,” Cyclonus said, pulling Rung back into the present. His fins rattled slightly, and only calmed when Tailgate moved her hand to cover one of his. 

Rung stared back at them-- all of them. People who checked up on him, helped him. People who would notice and be alarmed if he went missing. Who had never questioned the few bits he’d revealed about his prior life. Who had turned a blind eye to many nonsensical things, behaviors of his that didn’t make sense or would otherwise cause concern. Most everyone here had secrets-- and they’d let Rung keep his.

They had accepted him for who he was, damaged as he was. 

He remembered consoling Ratchet on his couch when Drift first rolled into town, helping the Doctor figure out his feelings in between ripping apart medical decisions on  _ Grey’s Anatomy _ . He remembered helping ‘Gate move her things when she finally decided she wanted a houseboat, and being cornered into singing during Swerve’s newly launched Karaoke Night. He had history here, he was accepted here-

With all that had happened, with the Functionists returning, there would never be a better time to tell them. 

Because all it took was one person to recognize him or his brandings. His scars, his tattoos. Just one person to point him out-- and he’d be targeted. Taken in dead or alive. 

He knew too much for them to ignore him. He was a threat now, a perceived danger.

If they really  _ were  _ here? Really  _ were  _ about to rise from the grave? 

He’d only be the  _ first  _ to go. They would burn the entire town to the ground, if only to protect their own egos. Not a soul here would survive, all because Rung had dared to speak to them. Had dared to call them a friend. Because of what they  _ could  _ know, regardless of what he had or hadn’t told them. 

They wouldn’t call him a friend, after this. Not after they heard what he had to say. They had been good to him though, better than anyone else in his life, and he owed them this. 

No matter what happened to him afterwards.

“Rung?” ‘Gate asked, and he gave her a small smile, realizing he’d gone silent. He reached up, tried to ignore how badly his hands shook, and tugged down his turtleneck. “Mers,” He said quietly, as the scars from his old collar hit the light, “were not the only pets they kept.” 

Drift had seen his scars--had removed the collar that caused them, in fact. So had Ratchet. The others had not, and ‘Gate’s gasp echoed through the room.

Drift’s eyes widened, the implications making him straighten from a slump. Rodimus hissed, Cyclonus’s eyes narrowed, and the various other reactions made Rung want to shrink into himself, hide away from everything. He found himself unable to look at them anymore, but kept the turtleneck pulled down. Let them see. They needed to see. 

_ ‘This is more important than you,’  _ he told himself, trying to keep his breathing even. It was more important than his own friendships and job-- which would no doubt be ruined after this. 

The Functionists did not give second chances. They were out to prove themselves strong once again. To be shown as weak or vulnerable in any way was the highest of insults, and the implications of his freedom would not be tolerated. They would hit back, hard.

The town-- the people he’d come to trust-- had to know the danger they were in.

If that meant trashing his own reputation, then so be it. 

“Rung,” Ratchet said softly, but Rung held up a hand, interrupting him. 

“The Functionists,” he said, voice steady only due to years of practice, “do not play games. They set out to do what they mean to, and do not tolerate failures. If it’s true, if we are dealing with them-” and now he had no doubt they were, because it’d been a pure accident the Society had perished the first time, if had ever really perished at all- ”then you have two options: you can run, or you can fight. Know that if you choose the latter, they will do everything in their power to destroy you.  _ All _ of you.” He let his gaze fall on Ratchet, his closest friend, the person he trusted most, “What you decide to do from here on is something that needs to be carefully planned-- carefully discussed.” He used  _ you _ instead of  _ we _ on purpose-- because this was no longer a group decision. This was an individual's decision. This was something one thought over carefully in the privacy of their own mind, that one could not be faulted for making a decision others did not agree with on. 

“They will target you,” he took another deep, shuddering breath, because this last bit was the hardest part, “because you associated with me. They will kill you simply because you know me.” And he was so, so sorry for that. The guilt lapped at him, would likely swamp him later. He pushed past it though, he had to in order to make his friends understand. “It is my suggestion that you leave now, and never speak to me, or return to this place, again. It is the best option, if this town is to become one of their targeted areas.” Likely someone had already spotted him-- but that was not a thought he could handle right now, not while he was still talking. He ignored it entirely, pushing it to the back of his mind. “This is not an easy to decision to make and I implore you to take time--  _ real  _ time-- to think on it.” He was dead serious, and his tone, his body posture conveyed that. Never had he been so serious outside of a session.

His confession was met with silence. 

Tailgate’s hand was over her mouth, the other one squeezing Cyclonus’ so hard the mer’s skin had turned begun turning colors. Both his and Rodimus’ fins were raised, eyes all around popped wide open. 

“Your drink,” Swerve said, the first one to speak, “is totally on the house.” 

Rung blinked at him behind his glasses. 

Drift opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it, and closed it. He then blatantly kicked Rodimus, who had also made an attempt to talk, under the table. 

No doubt to curse Rung out for his involvement in all this. Or for the ruination of his life. Mers were difficult to move after all, and this was a town that accepted him and Cyclonus fully. Rung had just set them both back a number of years, if not for life. 

Cyclonus, finally, seemed to find something to say. “Perhaps it's best not to ask personal questions now, but to take his advice and discuss our plans for the future. Rung,” they all pretended not to notice the therapist’s flinch, “do you know anything about what the Functionists are likely to do from here on out?” 

Rung was confused, briefly, but  settled-- of course they would question him before throwing him out. They wanted a proper warning, to be fully prepared. Smart beings, his friends. He did not blame them one bit.

Rung told them everything he knew. 

He did his best to steer clear of personal details, though there were times it couldn’t be helped. He’d never been on hunting parties for new “stock,” nor had he had anything to do with the majority of mer training. The only training he had been a part of was not relevant to this conversation-- and far too personal for him to even think about. Cyclonus, Ratchet, and Drift did a remarkable job of keeping everyone else on topic, and hours passed before the group finally broke to go home and sleep on the matter. 

They had put on a show about Mirror Beach being their home-- a home they would fight for-- but Rung had painted a good picture of what exactly fighting such a drastically over-powered enemy would entail. It wouldn’t matter if the Society wasn’t up to their full power or potential yet-- they had clearly recovered enough to do some serious damage, and that was enough to be wary of. He was positive that they would make the right decision, in the end.

They closed up with Swerve, the talk slowly continuing outside as the bartender locked up. Rung stayed only to answer some final questions-- and of course, because he knew this would be the last he saw of them ever again. 

They were going to go home, and they were going to do the right thing-- leave. He would not, not until they had all scattered in different directions. He had to be sure they were safe before he himself could run. It was a terrifying prospect, staying put when he was so close to the newly risen Functionist Society, but if they truly had come back into power, then  _ nowhere  _ would be safe. 

Nowhere at all.

It was a thought he wasn’t acknowledging-- at least not until he reached the relative quiet of his home. Where he could contemplate how he could avoid letting the Society reclaim him, while also keeping his friends safe. There was only one solid answer there, in the recess of his mind, and it circled his current thoughts like a shark. Waiting for a weakness, waiting for blood. 

Rung wasn’t really enjoying this talk with his (former?) friends, but it was the closest thing he would have to enjoyment for a long time. Possibly forever. So he dragged it out, lingering when he could have left, to avoid the the only remaining answer staring him down. 

He’d have all the time in the world to plan his suicide, after all. Might as well enjoy life while it lasted. 

It of course, had other plans for him. 

Ratchet’s hand fell onto his shoulder, and Rung jumped. “Come on,” the medic said. “We’ll walk you home.” A gesture indicated him and Drift, not that Rung had expected anyone else. 

They no doubt wanted to chew Rung out, and the therapist supposed he owed them that. He had endangered everyone, after all. He deserved some consequences. So Rung nodded, willing leaving with Ratchet and Drift. 

They got halfway to Rung’s home before anyone spoke. 

He’d been tense the whole time, waiting for it. Waiting for the angry voices and rants. Maybe yelling. Ratchet was infamous for his temper, and Drift had spoken frankly with Rung about his past as a “berserker.” These weren’t people who held their tempers when truly angered-- no matter how much Drift mediated on matters these days. 

Which made the quiet “Are you okay?” from Ratchet much more alarming.

Was he trying to lull Rung into a false sense of security before he tore into him? Or did he think it’d hit harder if he came from a place of “concern” first? 

“Of course,” Rung said stiffly. Ratchet eyed him-- Rung felt it, and kept his own eyes forward. He’d had enough of looking at people today. He couldn’t bare to see any of the dark emotions no doubt clouding the medic’s face. 

Ratchet had always been so kind to him. Rung wanted to keep that memory intact, no matter what he deserved. 

They were silent for a beat longer, walking along, until Ratchet-- and soon after Drift-- stopped.

“No, you aren’t,” Ratchet said softly.

“Does it matter?” Rung asked, trying to keep his voice light. It was the best way to keep it from breaking-- to keep pretending everything was actually okay. Of all the ways to start this conversation, this wasn’t how he wanted to do it. If he was to be (rightfully) blamed for this mess, then he wanted to get right to it. 

Just one of the things his Master had taught him-- being made to wait for such things was never a good sign.

He felt more than saw Ratchet and Drift share a look over his head. He didn’t bother to acknowledge it, just kept his gaze forward. 

“Yes Rung. It matters.” Ratchet’s hand descended, lightly, onto his shoulder. “ _ You _ matter.” 

No, no this was definitely  _ not  _ the route he wanted to take. Perhaps they simply needed a push. Rung could provide that. 

“Not as much as your lives-- which I have endangered.” He would apologize, but what would it be worth? 

Nothing. Nothing at all. 

“You didn’t endanger us.” Drift started. “This isn’t your fault.” 

For a moment, Rung was confused. Not his fault? Was this a-poor joke, of some kind? Did they intend on making Rung admit his guilt in further detail? But that wasn’t right-wasn’t in character and as Rung turned to examine his (ex?) friend’s faces, to try and get where they were going with this, a wave of horror crashed over him. 

Drift’s face was sincere. Ratchet’s was concerned. They both looked at Rung honestly, with soft, gentle eyes. 

_ ‘Oh God,’ _ he thought,  _ ‘they don’t understand.’ _

“Yes. I did,” he said, still refusing to look at them. “I have  _ absolutely  _ endangered your lives, and that is something I deeply regret. Had you not known me you would not be in this position. You would not,” He had tried to keep his voice emotionless, gentle. He didn’t deserve to get upset over this- and yet he couldn’t help it. He knew how bady he’d messed up. 

He couldn’t keep the emotions, the voice inside of him that pointed out how much he’d ruined, at bay any longer. 

“Not be forced, to- to leave, to run, to have to  _ hide!  _ To g- get-” He was horrified to hear his voice crack, to feel tears spring to his eyes.  He ignored them, fiercely wishing them away. This was not about him. He would not let this be about him! 

Shoulders shaking, head bent, Rung felt himself lose control for the second time in as many weeks. It was unacceptable, it was stupid and it was  _ despicable _ , yet he could not stop. 

“Had I not known you,” Ratchet said, voice still oddly gentle “I would likely not be engaged to my fiancé. My practice would be in ruins due to my own alcoholism. My temper would be out of control, and I don’t know how much longer I would have lasted on my own. You have given me-- either directly or indirectly-- things that have changed my life for the better, Rung. Do you understand how important that is? How important  _ you  _ are, to me?”  

“Do you know,” Ratchet continued when Rung did not answer him, “how important you are, in general? To your patients, who rely on your care? To your friends, who love you?” Rung flinched at “love” but Ratchet plowed on, pretending he hadn’t seen it. “I dunno what they put in your head, or what they threatened you with, but I-- and I’m damn sure most everyone here-- will stand by you, Rung. You can’t blame others’ actions on yourself, no matter what they have threatened you with. You told us they were there, and what you thought they would do. You’ve done your part.” Ratchet took a step closer, speaking so softly it was a near whisper. “Now let us do ours, and take care of you.” 

Ratchet had always been upfront about his shortcomings, but to hear it laid out this way, so blatantly-- the voice in Rung’s head said it was all a lie but he wanted to believe. A lie was the best outcome here-a lie meant Ratchet understood. Understood the danger, understood what staying meant. If he was honest, it meant Rung had failed-hadn’t gotten through to them. It also meant he was loved and that-that wasn’t something he was sure he could accept. Not because he didn’t want it, but because he didn’t deserve it. Would never deserve it. He struggled with himself, with what he knew of Ratchet and Drift. With his own guilty conscience, with what he believed was right and wrong.

To stay, to listen to Ratchet, was to put him in danger. 

It was also letting the Functionists win. 

His Master had promised him he’d be ruined-- ruined in so many ways that no one would want him again. That he would hurt everyone he came across. But in fourteen years, he hadn’t hurt Ratchet. Not like that. 

Experiences of two different breeds warred with each other in his head, and for a moment Rung was lost, unsure of which one was going to win. 

Sensibility-- or at least, what he hoped was sensibility-- won in the end. The bit of him that was a therapist to the core, that had refused to die even when the rest of him had, surfacing. 

His Master was dead. 

He would not be passed along like a piece of property, nor would let the mere thought of a new Council scare him into fleeing, into over-turning his and his friends lives. 

If Ratchet-- and whomever else-- wanted to stay, to fight, then Rung would stay with them. He owed them the warnings-- but if he were truly honest, he owed them his life as well. He had endangered theirs by befriending them, yes, but logically he knew many had already endangered themselves to similar shady groups, long before they’d ever met.

It wouldn’t stop the guilt, but it would keep him steady. 

Rung was quiet, thinking it over long after Ratchet had finished speaking. Drift shifted, clearly wanting to do- well, something. He didn’t though, a feat that Rung was grateful for.

He spoke when he finally found his voice. 

“I apologize,” Rung said, finally looking up over the rim of his glasses. “I did not expect this response.”

“For us to be concerned?” Drift asked, brow furrowing. “Of course we are! I know,” He cut a look to Ratchet and corrected himself, “hell, most of us know, how awful it is to have your past come back to haunt you like this.” 

“No,” Rung said softly, finally removing his glasses to wipe at his eyes. “I meant you staying with me.” 

“Staying with you?” 

“I did not think you would want to be near me after finding out...” Rung didn’t finish the sentence, let it die in the air, incomplete. 

Ratchet slung an arm over him, gently, giving Rung ample room-- and time-- to pull away. When he didn’t, Ratchet slowly pulled him close, tucking him against his side. Drift kept to Ratchet’s other side, trying not to trap Rung in. 

“You want to stay with us tonight?” Ratchet asked quietly, and Rung smiled through the tears-- because Ratchet  _ understood _ . How hard this was-- how hard facing this was. 

How hard it was watching his past come back. 

“Yes,” he said quietly, not yet trusting his voice to speak louder. “Please.” 

He didn’t deserve them, his friends. A small part of him couldn’t help but note how weak he was-- how quick he was to latch on to whatever they offered. How he would only be endangering them further by going with them. 

It was alright though. As he’d told himself earlier, there was all the time in the world to make things right. To end it properly. One more night wouldn’t harm anything no matter what his conscience said, no matter how selfish he felt.

He’d rather spend a night being happy and end it all on a high note than do it in the darkness, full of guilt and regrets. 

 

xXx

There was a knock at the door.

Rung had just gotten to bed, but he forced himself up anyway. It’d been a long few days, and everyone had been stopping by constantly to see him. Swerve had dropped off soup, Rodimus had caught him fish, Tailgate and Cyclonus had invited him over for a movie the day prior, and Ratchet and Drift had done their best not to hover-- though he’d ended up cuddled between them on more than one occasion too. Done their best to make sure he knew they were with him, no matter his past. It was... nice. 

Nice to be cared for in that way. Even if he was positive it was because Ratchet had somehow sensed his suicidal intentions like a dog could sense dropped food. He pretended not to notice when Ratchet conveniently had to borrow all of his knives. And shaving razors. And rope. And pills. 

He’d been fully willing to accept the consequences of his actions when he’d revealed what he had. His past. What he had been to the Functionists. Who would want to be friends with him after finding out what he’d been used as-- let alone see him as a therapist? He’d known before he’d spoken that it was likely he’d be ruined for his admission. A funny phrase, in retrospect, because wasn’t that what he already was?  _ Ruined _ ? 

They hadn’t known that though. The town. His clients.

His friends.

They did now. He didn’t regret it either-- he owed them the warning he’d given. He owed them his personal experience with the monsters his Masters could be. He was a living example of what could happen if you refused the Society. He’d expected many to leave afterwards too. After knowing what they were faced with. Drift and Rodimus especially, who had at least some knowledge beyond what Rung had told them.  

They hadn’t though. They had stayed. They claimed they understood, in their own way, and Rung had to trust that. Trust  them to do what was best for themselves. He understood that some would never forgive themselves if they ran-- no matter how this ended. He’d spent the last few days talking to each of them, individually, and they each had their own reasons for refusing to leave.  None of his warnings, of his horror stories seemed to land. If anything it just made them more determined. 

 

They had decided to fight-- and to accept Rung, for all his faults. 

He still didn’t believe it, not really. It was still too new for Rung to be convinced of its realness. Too much of an unexpected outcome.So raw it nearly hurt, to learn how deep this support went. That went two ways though-and he feared he was selfish, for not doing more to convince them to go.

_ “ If you truly loved them you would have.”  _ One’s voice purred darkly, taunting. _ “If you weren’t so selfish, you’d do a better job. You don’t really want them to go though. You’re loving every single second of them refusing to leave you.”   _

Those thoughts were the hardest to keep away. Rung was touched by the show of affection given. Stunned to find out how openly people were taking his past-how no one had commented, even though some of them had to know how the Functionists treated their slaves. That no one  had tried to put him in his place. HIs mind was a jumbled mess, of old rules and remembered punishments, mixed with fond memories of new friends. He was walking a hard edge, strung so tight that any little thing would make him snap. He was directionless and facing down his own personal nightmare-and he wasn’t sure he had it in him to fight again.

If someone tried to break him now-force him back into his role as a toy, he wouldn’t resist.

No one did though, because no one here was like that. It was hard to remember sometimes. Hard to get out of his own head, of the conditioning, that not everyone was like his Master. Not everyone centered their lives around power and control. 

Rung’s friends were better than that. 

Still, he greeted each day, each conversation, like it was his last. Like this was all fake and they were just waiting to decide what to do before telling him they were done with him. He interacted carefully, as if it was all about to slip away, and ended each night with the intent to kill himself the next day. Yet they always managed to convince him to push it back, to wait just one more day. It was a wonder that they wanted to see him again. That they seemed to care for him.

That care was perhaps the strangest thing of all. It wasn’t fake or forced or done with malicious intent-- and Rung tried to remind himself of that even as old whispers of his Master echoed in his head, assurances that no one would ever really treat him like a human again. That every act of kindness was false-- if not a trap of some kind. That he was testing fate, pushing things beyond where he should. That the Functionists would show up at any moment, ready to reclaim him and murder his friends. His life would be over before he managed to take it himself, and he’d be doomed to living out his remaining years as a plaything, in a place he’d sworn he’d never go back to.

That he’d doom his friends to the same fate, if not worse. 

Anxiety and guilt were terrible things-- they wanted to hold him back, drown him in their endless questions and their affirmations of his Master’s words. He wasn’t a therapist for nothing though. He did his best to combat them, throwing himself into whatever work he could. 

With those thoughts on his mind, Rung arranged his features into a pleasant smile and opened the door. 

He got punched in the face.

The force of it knocked him backwards, off balance. He stumbled right as his assaulter reached down to grab him. Rung yelled, fighting automatically, struggling.

_ “Naughty,”  _ a voice hissed in his ear, “You should show some respect to those who trained you.” The words were specific and Rung froze, suddenly unable to breathe for an entirely different reason. 

That was Five’s voice. 

“Be still,” Five commanded and Rung did just that, years of training and trauma rushing back and preventing him from doing much else. He remained still, shocked, long enough for a needle to make an appearance-- and then it was hell all over again as it pierced Rung’s neck, making his vision blur to black. 

He vaguely recognized other people as he was hauled over a shoulder-- large, and heavily outfitted shapes swarming him, his  _ home _ \-- before he was thrown into a van. 

His last memory was of the doors closing before the darkness ate him completely. 

 

xXx

_ “Did you think we wouldn’t know you were hiding something?” One tutted, fingers drumming out a rhythm on arm of the plush chair he perched upon. “Did you think we wouldn’t notice? We notice everything Rung.” His fingers stopped and he leaned forward, invading Rung’s space.  _

_   
_ _ “Every new mark on your skin.” His hand came forward to trace a line down Rung’s face, following a recent scar along his jaw. “Every reaction. Every flinch, breath and blink...” The hand reversed, towards Rung’s eye. A fingertip touched the wetness that pooled at it’s edge.  _

_ One smiled. “Every tear. And do you know why?” _

_ Rung didn’t answer, still struggling for breath, struggling not to shake. Not to cry harder.   _

_ His Master smiled wider, an awful glint in his eyes. “Because you’re _ ours.” 

_ He watched Rung’s reaction, the telltale shudder Rung couldn’t hide, with unmasked glee. “I’d tell you not to fight it, but let’s be honest,” he continued, “I enjoy the struggle. Your struggle.”  _

_ Even the little struggles. Rung knew. The internal ones-- the one he was fighting now. To not say anything. To hide his pain. To not break before the monster before him.  _

_ “You refuse to submit. But you will, in the end.” His voice was calm, almost wistful. He was looking forward to Rung’s submission-- but more than that, he was looking towards the fight to get him there. Low lighting-- let off by the fire he’d held Rung’s hand in a moment earlier-- made his face look demonic. “Won’t you, Rung?” _

_ Rung didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Any answer at all was what One wanted and he was tired... so tired and he just wanted this all to stop- _

“Rung?” 

_ But it wouldn't, he knew it wouldn’t. And he knew fighting was stupid, he knew running was stupid-- but that’s what he had done, wasn’t it? He had ran. He’d thought he’d gotten away. But he’d never get away. Not even when his Master had died, because there was always someone else willing to step into his Master's place. That was the point of the Numbers. When One died his position didn’t close, but opened, for someone else to come fill his shoes. _

_ When that happened Rung would belong to them, to a new Master. He gasped, unable to stay quiet now, giving One the reaction he wanted as he bent to press his head to the floor and screamed for all he was worth. He couldn’t do it again, he couldn’t learn a new master again, he’d die before it happened again- !  _

_ “-ung?  _ Rung!!”

Rung  jerked awake, breathing hard. His head felt swamped, his vision blurry. He took a moment to take stock of himself-- noting that beyond a bit of bruising he was unharmed.

Mercifully little, considering what he could have woken up with. 

Someone was talking, and it took Rung a moment to locate the source-- his body wasn’t reacting quite right, vision swimming.  _ ‘Drugged then.,’ _ he thought with a frown. The effects were too common to pinpoint a specific one quite yet, so he focused on trying to find the speaker instead.

It took what felt like an enormous effort to turn his head, but when he did his heart dropped.

Drift. 

_ ‘They had Drift.’  _

“Are you okay?” the ex-con asked, concerned. The horror running through Rung gave him a bit of an edge, or at least enough adrenaline, to nod. He did so, taking in the sight of his friend and the place they were confined in. 

He couldn’t yet remember what had brought him here, how he knew he was in their grasp. It came to him, slowly, in bits and pieces. The abduction, the needle, _ Five.  _

Nowhere did he recall Drift though-- he had been alone when taken. 

“H-how did- they get-... you?” Rung’s words were slurred at first, a common effect of the drugs they used for transport. Rung had built up a tolerance to most of them at one time, but 14 years did a lot of things to the body. 

“Stumbled on them loading you into a van. They caught me off guard.”  _ Off-guard _ apparently meant something different to Drift because he looked like he’d fought a bear. His clothes were ripped, multiple scrapes and tears marking his face and arms. Blood was splattered here and there-- Rung was quite certain not all of it was the swordmaster’s either. 

“Do you- know how- long, we’ve... been here?” Rung asked, forcing each word out.. Drift seemed to be more alert than Rung was-- he either wasn’t hit with the same drug or was just simply more immune. In the end it didn’t matter, as the ex-con was doing a much better job of trying to figure out their surroundings than Rung was. 

A bang, followed by a loud argument interrupted Drift’s answer. The two of them went silent, Drift’s eyes darting to the right, Rung’s slowy taking in the fact that they were in some sort of cargo bay. 

The shouts continued, growing closer-- close enough for Rung to make out a few words. 

A few key words.

_ ‘Functionists’ ‘Pissed.’ ‘Five.’ ‘Orders.’  _

The words hit like a bolt of lightning, sending shivers shooting down Rung’s back. He forced his head to look back to Drift. Someone who had survived the dark parts of the world, but never anything like this. Like  _ them _ .

Drift had gotten out. Gotten Rodimus out, gotten them both attached to Ratchet. Gotten engaged to Ratchet. He didn’t deserve this-- what might happen here. He had to get out. Now.

Before Five started toying with them.

“You need to get out.” Rung spoke slowly, forcing the words past numb lips. 

Drift shot him a look as the yelling faded, the shouters having moved away. 

“Yeah. We both do,” he said. Rung watched his arms twitch and jump, no doubt trying to undo the knots of whatever had tied his hands together. Rung’s were fastened with zip ties.

He didn’t even bother trying to break free.

If anything Drift’s escape would only serve their purpose more in terms of humiliating Rung, and the smaller man knew he could use that fact to their advantage--  _ if _ Drift got loose. 

Which was what he’d intended to say. What came out was a slurred mess. He’d tried speaking two fast, with too many words. Too complicated a thought. The drug tripped him, even as he could feel it start to lose its grip on him. Two more tries (with Drift being thankfully quiet) and Rung finally got coherent enough to spit out;

“I am used to them. You aren’t. I’ll keep them off you if you can find a way out.” 

Not what he wanted, but close enough.

Except of course, that Drift  _ had _ to argue. 

“There might not be a way out,” Drift hissed, “I think we’re on a boat.” 

“Water’s far better a fate than what they have in store.” Rung said, words coming easier as he tried to focus. Tried to use all his own teachings, his own methods, to keep himself calm and present. It wouldn’t do for him to have a panic attack here. It wouldn’t save him, and more importantly it would doom Drift.  

“It certainly would be,” a new voice purred, one that sent a shiver down Rung’s spine. He looked up to see Five in the doorway, a handful of goons at his back. “Pity you won’t be given that chance.”

He sauntered in, hands clasped behind his back. “Hello, Drift. I’ve heard a lot about you-- or at least, a lot about what you used to be.” His tone was pleasant, as though welcoming a new friend.   His eyes flicked to Rung, before focusing back on the ex-con. “Been getting acquainted with one of our toys?” he asked, head tilting, wearing a small little smile on his face. 

“Heard some things about you too,” Drift responded through clenched teeth. His hands felt the ropes that bound his wrists together, trying to find a way to wiggle free. “And about the new structure. I’d congratulate you-- except that honor goes to whoever actually killed the prior Council.” 

“I’ll take it anyway, regardless of whether or not you think it’s due,” Five responded, with a huff of laughter. “I’m aware of how gangs operate-- how you eat each other for leadership roles. I cannot blame you for not being used to more  _ sophisticated  _ ways of ascending to power. .” 

He walked forward, the goons hanging back. He stood in front of Rung for a moment, eyes scanning the therapist in a languid motion. Slowly, Five crouched in front of Rung. He reached a hand up, removing the cracked glasses from the therapist's face. “This one was always was a favorite of ours,” he said, his movements gentle-- until he grabbed Rung’s chin. Five’s grip was hard and he forced Rung to look up in a jerky motion. “Always managed to keep things interesting. Look at it now. Freedom didn’t benefit it at all.” He shoved  Rung’s head back, eyeing the thick scars circling his neck. “Just look at what it did to itself.” 

“Let go of him,” Drift demanded, sitting up straight. 

“Ah, attached are we?” Five turned to look at Drift, never letting go of Rung. “I can’t blame you, playing with it has always been rather intoxicating.”

“I told you,” Drift growled, voice low, “to let him go.”

Five examined him for a moment, his tense body posture. “Oh my,” he said, face breaking into a smile. “ _ Oh my _ \- you’ve never used it have you? Did you even know it was a toy? Did it try to masquerade as a real person? Not the broken thing it is? Did it _ mislead  _ you?”

“Rung is not  _ a thing _ and he’s not broken!” Drift hissed, missing Rung’s wince as he spoke. 

Five however, caught it. 

“Ah, and that’s where you're wrong.” He turned back toward, Rung, nails adjusting to dig into the other’s face. “I think it’s time we showed Drift just what you are.” 

  
  


xXx

“What’s goin’ on?” Swerve mumbled more than asked, stumbling down the stairs to the houseboat’s living room. Tailgate was chewing on her fingers- -a habit that only surfaced when she was really upset. Cyclonus’ back was to them, a phone pressed to the side of his head. 

“Drift didn’t come home last night,” she said, turning to face her roommate. “He was supposed to check up on Rung-- but when Ratchet went over this morning they were both gone.” 

“Maybe they just went to go get coffee and doughnuts or something?” Swerve suggested, tired mind still trying to process just what had his roommate so panicked. Drift and Ratchet regularly traded off staying at Rung’s place-- if Rung wasn’t at theirs. It was one of those common facts of life in Mirror Beach. Seeing them all get breakfast in the morning at one of the dinners was as common as seeing a crab.  

Tailgate shook her head, white dreads flying around her face in a wave. “He waited for them for over an hour-- they didn’t come back and they didn’t answer their phones.” Ratchet had a spare key to Rung’s place and office, they all knew he did. He’d been called on more than once to go check on the therapist when he’d drawn into himself or was suspected to be sick.

Though Rung and Drift both were the type to seclude themselves and vanish from public eye for a few days, neither would do it to Ratchet. In fact, Ratchet was usually the one Drift, and many assumed Rung, went to when they got into those moods-- it was no secret that Rung had closer ties to the pair. 

They wouldn’t have vanished without telling Ratchet either. At least, Drift wouldn’t have. 

“The authorities are saying we can’t do anything until they’ve both been missing for 24 hours. And we don’t know what time they went missing initially.” It went unmentioned that no one was convinced the local police weren’t overrun by the Functionists. There was no need-- the cop who’d vanished after his involvement with the poachers had been enough to convince most everyone of that. 

“Shit,” Swerve cursed, stomach dropping.  “What can we do?” 

Same as with the corrupt officer, no one had to say anything about where they might have gone-- if they were in fact missing. Rung had made that pretty clear too. 

The Functionists struck without warning. And in their hands, you would wish you were dead. 

Swerve hadn’t taken it seriously. Not really-- why would he? It didn’t feel real. It sounded like something out of his beloved TV shows. Not something that would actually happen, let alone to people he knew! 

“Man a search party,” Cyclonus said, finally hanging up the phone. “Rodimus and I will be conducting a search of the waters-- I suggest the both of you join Ratchet and try to cover as much land as possible. As Tailgate said, the authorities will not do anything until the 24 hours are up. We however, can do much more. I fear,” the mer paused, searching for the right words, tail thrashing against the carpet, “-we all fear, that if Rung and Drift have been captured, 24 hours will be too long a time period.”

_ ‘Dead.’ _ Swerve thought, as ‘Gate hugged herself,  _ ‘That’s a polite way to say they’re dead.’  _

“Okay,” he said aloud, because he needed to say something. “Okay. When do we start?” 

“Now,” the mer answered, making eye contact with the stout, Asian man. “While the clock's still ticking.” 

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote notes on this story as I went. I’ll likely end up putting them all up on my Tumblr or something but as we go I’ll put the important ones at the end, in the order of which they appear in the story. 
> 
> Note 1: Whirl is a rose tail betta / bull shark cross. He had fins that ran from his shoulders all the way down to his tail. They were surgically removed, as were the extra bits on his arms. Bull shark Mer’s are the most aggressive of the species, being able to survive in both fresh and salt water, and Betta mer’s are a close second in both aggressiveness and hardiness. They are considered two of the most difficult species of mer to keep in captivity. 
> 
> Note 2: Keeping a Mer in captivity is not illegal, however it does require several expensive permits and is considered the equivalent of keeping an exotic pet. There is a growing school of thought that they should not be kept in captivity and a further one that is attempting to prove their intelligence is on level with humans in a legal sense. Fighting Mers is illegal as is eating them, but as with most things, money makes people look the other direction more often than not. 
> 
> Note 3: Ratchet’s boat is sorta-kinda-almost based off a SX240 High Output Yamaha jet boat. As in I Googled ‘boat’, glimpsed one, and then wrote on what I thought I saw rather than what it actually was. Ah well. 
> 
> Note 4: Though I didn’t delve into Cyclonus’s story much, he’s probably one of the most knowledgeable of the Mers about humans in terms of culture-which is why he’s able to defend Tailgate from casual racism. His and Roddy’s backstories are in my expanded notes. 
> 
> Note 5: For those who don’t like math (like me!) Rung was with the Functionalists for five years, and Whirl for slightly longer (six/seven) I was purposefully ambiguous about everyone’s ages but Rung is older than Whirl by seven years. Ratchet is older than Drift by 13 years. They’ve been together for 8 years at the time of this fic. Humans and mer have similar lifespans and age roughly the same way. 
> 
> Note 6: Most mers who were raised in captivity cannot speak mer as they were often isolated away from other mers for easier training.


End file.
